How to Save a Life
by JaimiePrufrock
Summary: Post BNW. Ensemble piece. Sylar/Peter friendship, Sylaire. "I am a homicidal maniac, remember?" Chapter 17: Prison, is up! please R
1. Familiar Faces

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works. **

"What's it going to be then?"

Claire's breath stilled in the cold night air. Her head ducked slightly as she shuffled her feet in an attempt to generate some warmth. It was the cold that made her feel uncomfortable… not the question that seemed to hang in the air, or the dark figure posing it.

She raised her eyes to meet the darker eyes of the man beside her. "I don't know what you want me to say Sylar. I know you're…trying… or whatever," Lord knows, if she had a nickel for every time Peter regaled her with tales of the redeemed serial killer… "But I don't know you. All I know is the shadow you've cast over the lives of so many, the families you've devastated - for God's sake, Sylar, you killed my biological parents and helped drive a wedge between my other parents. I don't even know why we're here."

But Claire _did_ know why she was there, past midnight strolling through the "Store-it-Here" wasteland of warehouse containers and storage units on the outskirts of Arlington. She was there at least due to a combination of Peter's needling to "just give Gabe a chance, he's really a great guy under all that" and the look of lost puppyhood on her former nightmare's face. Attached at the hip, it was a given that if she wanted to see Peter, she would have to tolerate the other man's presence. And that pained look of despondency he gave her _every_ time she looked in his general direction was becoming too difficult to ignore. Another part of her, a secret, almost guilty part of herself wanted to assess the sincerity of Sylar's words herself, sans Peter's judgment.

"It's Gabriel." Claire looked up, startled out of her revelry by the quiet, almost embarrassed voice beside her. It was Sylar's turn to duck his head as he took a breath and continued,

"My real name that is. It's Gabriel, Gabriel Gray. Born and raised in Brooklyn. Used to be a, a watchmaker," here he paused, seemingly in discomfort, "that's where the name comes from. Sylar. I was just, desperate to be somebody else, ANYONE else."

His crystallized breath hung in the still chilly air of early spring, alongside what Claire assumed was information that only a select group was privy to. Apparently now she was a part of that club. Sylar's face, even half shrouded in darkness, still bore obvious signs of anguish.

The pair began their slow trek again, neither really certain what to say. They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity to Claire. If she wanted to know the exact time from the human chronograph next to her… she wouldn't have asked.

It was Sylar who broke the silence once more.

"So what's it going to be then? Are you and the other," his plump lower lip twisted in an almost derisive smirk, "_heroes_ ever going to see me as human? As anything other than a one-dimensional psychopath? As anything other than Peter's latest pet project to save the world?" He leaned away from the diminutive blond, clutching his dark locks in a whitened fist.

"Sylar, I-I" Claire didn't get to finish her thought as she was swung around the corner of the nearest container seemingly under her own volition. She had too much experience in the world of specials to be anything other than annoyed.

Claire felt her head bump the cool metal, felt the peeling green paint scrape against her palm. No painful sensations of course.

"What the Hell Sylar! You don't get to just do that when you don't hear what you want! Umph!" A sweat slicked hand covered her mouth. "Do you see what I see?" Green and Brown eyes met in a charged stare. Claire conceded first and peeked around the corner.

Eyes widening, Claire took in the sight before her. Near-blinding search beams swept the area where the pair previously stood. The high beam lights were attached to scopes on long guns carried by what Claire assumed weren't your run of the mill night guards at a storage yard – if their military grade black combat gear was any indication.

Sylar cursed unintelligibly under his breath. Louder, he whispered, "Apparently it's 'hunt-for-specials' season again. Well, actually, after the whole carnival thing, I can't say I'm not surprised. Ooof!"

Claire couldn't resist a well aimed elbow to Sylar's gut. "Really, Sylar? This is the time for that?" She rolled her eyes. Of course, even she could tell from her uneventful, albeit disturbing interactions with her Uncle and his new best friend / roommate, that the heroes weren't the only specials not thrilled with her proclamation to the world two months previous. Apparently, the "reformed" serial killer was in a constant state of worry that illumination on the specials' world would somehow link him to the unsolved string of bloody murders across the country involving missing brains.

"Well Claire," and there was that _smirk_, the one Claire knew and loathed, "You got us into this mess, I will get us out!"

Before Claire could say anything to the contrary, Sylar's features began to contort. They twisted painfully as the…man…in front of her attempted to suppress whimpers of discomfort. After a moment of stunned horror in which Claire was unable to look away, Sylar appeared to shrink. Claire stood transfixed with a fascination only capable of a girl who's mutilated herself in every conceivable way – just to see what would happen. Finally, the gyrations of the form in front of her ceased, and Claire found her horror and fascination replaced by a nearly overwhelming urge to hit something. Hard.

Sylar shapeshifted.

Sylar shapeshifted into _Claire_.

Sylar shapeshifted into _Claire wearing a Union Wells High School Wildcats cheerleading uniform. _

Claire watched _herself_ shrug and give a little shake. "Wow, it's been awhile. Swore I'd never use that one again. But, desperate times call for desperate measures." _Smirk_

Sylar was lucky that there was a pressing need for quiet; otherwise he would have felt the full force of Bennet rage at decibels unhealthy for the human ear. With barely concealed anger only betrayed in the slightest tremble of her voice, Claire managed to calmly ask, "Why…are you wearing THAT?"

Sylar looked down. "Oh, um," he straightened his mini-skirt, "I just thought _Claire_ and I guess I'm a little rusty with this ability. This was how you looked the first time we met…" Now Claire truly was horrified as she had to watch herself turn a delicate shade of pink.

"Let me try again." He closed his eyes in concentration. Seconds later, Claire was treated to an identical version of herself in the correct college co-ed attire

"Whatever. How is playing – whatever game you're playing – going to help us with this situation?"

Pseudo-Claire took a deep breath. "Well, it worked once before. I'll run out, prance around, pretend to be you, while the real you runs in the opposite direction. Then, I'll disappear. Worst come to worst, I'll use some abilities they won't expect you to have to escape. It's fool proof."

So then why did Claire have a sinking feeling in her stomach? "For lack of a better plan, I guess we'll go for it. Don't expect me to agree with you on anything else. I just want to get to Peter to warn him."

_If they haven't gotten to him already._ The unvoiced thought hung between the identical "twins".

Pseudo Claire grinned, baring her teeth in a menacing way the real Claire doubted she had the capability to do. "I wouldn't have it any other way, cheerleader."

Tossing blond locks over her shoulder, the doppelganger winked. Without another word she ran out into the sea of masked men.


	2. Run

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, story alerts, story favorites, and author alerts everyone! Lest the humorous elements of the first chapter be misleading, this story **will** be heavy on the angst, drama, and there will be some, ah, disturbing content.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

"Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold."

~ Helen Keller

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Hands on her hips, Claire Bennet rocked back and forth from her delicate heels to the balls of her feet. She stood with her back flush to the green painted steel of a Store-it-Here container. Claire knew that her companion was an arm's length away, just around the corner. Her blond hair, almost iridescent under the moonlight, turned an unnatural brassy orange when caught in the high beams of the black clad agents.

…But this Claire Bennet, currently staring down men almost twice her size, was not the _real_ Claire Bennet.

The _real_ Claire was hiding in the shadows of the cool metal waiting with baited breath poised either to witness what she was sure was going to be a complete failure or to have to begrudgingly admit that maybe Sylar could play the good guy.

Quite frankly, she wasn't sure what would be worse.

Claire knew she should run. She knew that every moment she spent in hiding was another moment that could make the difference between warning Peter in time and not. She also knew that nothing could keep her from watching _herself_ escape what appeared to be between twenty and thirty men bearing some serious looking weaponry.

Pseudo-Claire cocked her head to the side and gave the agents a predatory grin before sprinting towards them. Caught by surprise, "she" managed to get by them before the men could as much as whirl around in surprise. They recovered quickly; however, and shouldering their weapons, the agents followed.

Claire held her breath and closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of the light pitter-patter of Sylar's stolen footsteps fade into the night. Louder, Claire could hear the shifting of chunky combat gear and heavy soled boots.

She could still run. Run in the opposite direction, away from Sylar, away from what looked like an excerpt from a sweat-inducing Building 26 nightmare.

Instead, Claire found herself running towards the yellow glow that was growing steadily smaller as it focused on the one man she never thought she'd be running _to_.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

All things considered, Sylar hadn't felt this good in months. He found Claire's legs (with the calf muscles that were beginning to burn) to be a tad too short for his liking, as he was used to a much lankier, leaner frame. He was sure that he didn't look nearly as graceful in Claire's compact, low to the ground body as her sensible shoes slapped the pavement. Even though Claire's body was in excellent shape, Sylar lacked proper breathing and running technique, and as a result found his breath to be coming out in increasingly short little puffs. He could feel Claire's snug fitting jeans dig themselves increasingly higher and tighter into his groin, painfully shaping up into what he was sure would be a wedgie he would feel for years to come.

Despite it all, Sylar felt alive. Living the life of Pious Peter was rewarding and more than he would have ever hoped for. He had a place to live, a patient and kind roommate, and was trusted. It was more than the former killer thought he deserved. However, normalcy and routine were never his strong suit. Sylar did feel a pang of guilt, inwardly acknowledging that the thrill came from the familiarity of pursuing a victim. The similarity was starkly obvious to someone whose core ability was Intuitive Aptitude - the agents just didn't _understand_ that he was really the one in control here. Was it wrong that the chase had his adrenalin pumping, heart racing, and brain in absolute ecstasy?

Not as wrong as the fact that Sylar could hardly keep his eyes off the pert, round breasts bopping up and down in the peripheral of his vision. Unable to resist, he risked a small peek downwards into the sliding "V" of brown corduroy covering a plum camisole.

_Claire didn't wear a sports bra tonight, apparently. Thank God for small blessings._

_Best. Night. Ever. _

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Claire ran under the moonlight and weighty knowledge that she was doing something horribly wrong. Why didn't she follow the plan and run as far and as fast as possible? Barely aware of the energy or stamina it took to keep up her measured pace; Claire's thoughts were all directed towards her doppelganger. Specifically, Claire was trying to decipher her own motivations and interpret the myriad of emotions coursing through her:

_Anger._ Why were they being chased?

_Confusion. _How were they found?

_Fear._ Who did these agents work for?

_Worry._ What if she and Sylar were caught?

_Anger_. Why was she concerned with what happened to Sylar?

Claire sighed as she glanced up at the rusted scaffolding parallel to her position. She wanted to hate him, she really did. A large part of her still did, in fact. But a small, maybe even microscopic part of Claire found it hard to reconcile the image of the apron-clad Gabriel who packed her Uncle's lunch every day with the sadistic Sylar.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

"_Peeeeeeete! Hurry up or we're going to be late!"_

_Claire paused, mid-knock outside Peter's apartment door. Staring blankly at the brown door in the dimly lit hallway, she attempted to puzzle her way through the last 15 seconds of her life._

_That was not Emma's voice. Emma, who Claire knew to be freshly dating Peter, would have reason to be at Peter's apartment at 8:30 in the morning. _

_Sylar did not. _

_The object of her disaffection must have somehow sensed a presence outside of the apartment, as the dingy door was swiftly replaced by his smiling face. A beige apron covered what looked like it might be a uniform._

_Sylar looked mere seconds away from enveloping the short woman into his gangly embrace, but instead settled for an exuberant, "Hi Claire! What are you doing here?"_

_Claire blinked. Sylar was _smiling. _Not smirking, or leering, or grimacing – all the regular expressions he normally wore. Claire blinked again. _

"_Hello, Claire? Are you okay? I'll, uh, just go get Peter." Sylar's nervous smile was replaced by a look of doting concern. That was enough to snap Claire out of it. _

"_What am __**I**__ doing here? What are __**YOU**__ doing here? I'm here to visit my Uncle!" Claire, in her naivety hadn't called before hopping the plane to New York to surprise Peter on her spring break. After the Carnival Fiasco, Claire hadn't had much of a chance to talk to her favorite family member. She had been too busy fielding questions from the press and disapproving frowns from her father. She had seen Peter embracing Emma (who she met briefly before being led away by Noah into a black, nondescript car) and then…Sylar. At the time, she merely assumed Peter was so overcome with joy that they had saved the world again that he didn't see who he hugging. Or maybe it had been one crisis too many and his mind had finally let go of all reason. _

_That had been almost three weeks ago. In the interim, Claire had spoken on the phone to Peter, but as soon as the conversation turned to Sylar, she always had homework to do. Or classes to attend. Or ladies' nights out. Or buildings to jump off. Really, anything to avoid listening to her poor, beloved uncle delude himself any further. He did manage to get enough time to try and convince her that Sylar, or "Gabe," was really a great guy who had been manipulated into impersonating her bio-dad and that the erstwhile villain had played a key role in saving the world from Samuel and the carnies. _

_Desperately hoping that Peter would leave well enough alone and forget these bizarre thoughts he was having. Claire thought seeing him in person would be good for both of them after the whole ordeal. Peter, for his part, had given Claire a standing invitation to come by anytime, so she felt a surprise visit wouldn't be _too_ intrusive. _

_Apparently though, the surprise was on her. If she had actually listened to Peter long enough during their abbreviated conversations, she would have known about the new resident in Apartment 643. _

_After her outburst, Sylar practically ran back into the apartment. Claire found herself again staring at Peter's door. She listened as hushed voices rumbled beyond her hearing range._

_The door swung open for the second time, now revealing Peter. He smiled warmly before sweeping her into a characteristic Petrelli hug. "It's so good to see you again Claire."_

_Claire reluctantly followed Peter into his apartment, glancing around surreptitiously. A window opened almost to its widest capacity was betrayed by a set of sparse blinds still slapping against the glass before coming to a stop. She looked at Peter questioningly. _

_Answering her unspoken question, Peter nodded towards the window, "I told Gabe to go on without me. In fact, since you're here, I'm going to use one of those sick days people seem to enjoy so much and spend the day with you." _

_Claire grit her teeth in annoyance, "Peter," She ground out, "Taking a day off of work isn't going to make things better. Why is that monster here?"_

_And so, they sat down at Peter's kitchen table while he told her the long, at times confusing, tale of how he and Sylar had been imprisoned together, forged an alliance, and eventually became close friends. Between sips of chocolate milk and bites of the best oatmeal chocolate chip cookies she had ever tasted, Claire listened as Peter told her of her nightmare's redemption after years of solitude and suffering. After the fall of the Carnival, Peter had appointed himself guardian of the "new" man, which involved living together and working on the darker man's still-present demons. _

_Claire's eyes were drawn away from Peter more than once while he was speaking, towards the kitchen counter behind his head. The brown paper lunch bag on the counter bore her uncle's name in a spiky scrawl that she last saw on a chalkboard listing similar life experiences between herself and the subject of their conversation. It was mildly distracting. _

_Well, maybe more than mildly. _

_When asked about it, Peter only laughed ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck and ducking his head. _

"_Lately, Gabriel cooks when he feels nervous, or guilty, or really any uncomfortable emotion. We're trying out different constructive coping techniques. Enjoying the cookies?"_

_Regenerative powers be damned, Claire thought she might die._

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Claire thought she might actually die as she ran at ground level below Sylar and the agents. Really, the anticipation was almost too much. Claire just wanted this strange, terrifying night to come to an end. The faster she got out of here, the faster she could contact Peter.

"_If only I had cell service,"_ Claire cursed inwardly. It was, after all, her decision to meet in such a secluded location. Maybe not the smartest move considering who she was meeting, but at the same time, Claire didn't want to risk Noah Bennet discovering what she was up to. In the past couple of months, Claire could hardly move around campus without feeling like she was being watched. Given the excitement of the evening, however, there was reason to believe that her father wasn't the only one keeping tabs on her daily movements.

Claire took a moment to glance around and get her bearings for when she made her escape.

Sylar had led the chase into an older part of the warehouse yard. Rusted orange skeletons of former multi-storied storage units, many missing their beveled metal walls were being swarmed by the agents. They were climbing after Pseudo-Claire who looked like she was debating the feasibility of turning a few cartwheels in her new cheerleading body on the grate-like surface.

Since the chase was no longer moving forward, but rather up, Claire stopped running. Craning her neck back, she watched her irritating companion do what he did best.

Sylar was scaling the metal structure while sliding his hips from side to side in a seductive (or nauseating, if you asked Claire) fashion. To the untrained eye, it appeared that the agents were falling all over themselves, tripping on the uneven surface. Claire's experienced eye, even from her lower vantage point, could see the alternating twitches of Sylar's index, middle, and ring fingers of his left hand; he was telekinetically slowing his unaware pursuers down.

Claire felt an unwelcome swell of admiration. Even she had to admit that Sylar really was a master of his abilities.

_Clang!_

The sound of _something_ hitting metal, maybe even as light as someone unable to see in the shadows bumping into one of the skeletal structures, drew Claire's attention. The sound was coming from behind her, in the opposite direction of the climbing agents. Panic seizing her throat, Claire slowly turned around.

There was no one there.

Trying to calm her pounding heart, Claire looked back up at Sylar and his pursuers. By now, they were nearly forty feet in the air.

It could have been a loose flake of rust, or the chill of the night air. Obviously, it wasn't an early sign of illness. Whatever the cause, Claire couldn't help herself.

She sneezed.

While not particularly loud, the sneeze caught Claire by surprise so she didn't manage to quite stifle it in time. Claire wasn't the only not prepared for the out-of-place noise. The midnight chill of still Virginia air was perfect for carrying sound, and forty-three feet in the air, Sylar looked down.

Because he was looking downwards, irritation plain on his not-face when he recognized the sneezer, Sylar didn't see the faint sheen of moisture on the next rung of the ladder he was climbing.

Because he didn't see the dampness, the sole of his replicated dainty pink flat smacked onto the rung without caution.

Because he took the rung unaware of the danger, Sylar slid when he couldn't find purchase.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Sylar was so greatly taken by surprise by revelation that Claire hadn't run when he asked, and then by his subsequent slip, that he wasn't aware at first that he was falling. It felt like flying.

The realization that he was not harnessing Nathan's ability came too late as the ground came rushing towards him.

With minimal time left to plan, his brain, quicker than most, came up with a solution. He couldn't do anything other land, no matter how painful. Under the guise of Claire, he would set any broken bones and resume running, making sure that this time Claire did the same. The agents would be so stunned and were high enough up on the scaffolding that the two Claires would have just enough time to get away.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Claire watched from below, horror and guilt spreading from her stomach into a wave that encompassed her entire body as she watched her stolen body pitch backwards into the black. It would be about ten seconds before Sylar hit the ground, but the moment felt like it was split between a millisecond and eternity.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

Satisfied with his plan, Sylar let gravity bend Claire's lithe form into a graceful arc. The agony would be worth it to save Claire. This was the last thought Sylar had before hitting the unforgiving pavement.

It would have worked too. If only he hadn't landed headfirst.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

As Claire ran to where Sylar had landed, she couldn't stop the torrent of thoughts pounding through her mind:

_Why didn't he fly?_

_Why didn't he slow down the fall telekinetically?_

_What if he was DEAD?_

The last one might have been irrational, but Claire couldn't help herself. After she closed the short distance between them, her dread only grew.

Sylar, she realized, must have hit his head on the way down, or landed that way. He was lying motionless on the asphalt, still in Claire's blood coated body. The sight of her own head, split into barely connected pieces was almost to make Claire throw up, if only because of the memories of her own Sylar Scalping. Hesitating only for a second, Claire knelt down to hold the pieces together over the exposed gray matter.

_Gray matter._ Claire couldn't stop herself from giggling in the silent night. Although she appreciated a good sense of irony, Claire knew that her giddiness was born less from amusement and more from mounting hysteria. What else could go wrong tonight? And why was it taking so long for Sylar to heal? It must have been at least five minutes already.

She could still run.

This thought was tampered down by the weakly groaning figure that was beginning to stir before Claire's eyes.

Claire lifted her slick, red hands from the freshly sealed scalp as the body began to change. It wasn't as fluid or as fast as the first time, but after a couple of minutes, Sylar's pale face replaced her own.

Thankfully, he was also wearing his own clothes.

Sylar shook tousled dark hair out of his eyes and surveyed his all black attire. Looking up from his blood-dampened pea coat, the lanky man managed to slur, "Hey…I look like…Me."

"Are you…okay?" Claire asked, feeling incredibly awkward.

"Uggggggggh. Yeah, I guess." Sylar looked down at his twisted limbs. "We better hurry before the happy gang joins us."

Claire nodded. Before Sylar could say anything to the contrary, Claire snapped the ulna of his left arm back into place.

"Aaaaaaaaargh!" Sylar, lifted moist eyes to meet Claire's hard, green orbs. No, Claire was not going to be taken in by those big, brown eyes.

"You're left-handed, right? Well, now you can start snapping some of the other ones back. That's pretty hard to do with two broken arms. Get to it."

The pair began snapping and grinding bones into place as quickly as they could. Claire stayed, because, well, she felt partially responsible for his predicament. Her sneeze had been the catalyst for Sylar's plummet. A voice in the back of her mind whispered that she actually cared what happened to the guy.

_Only for Peter's sake!_ She snarked back. No, the fact that Sylar was doing this all for her was not admirable in the least.

Well, maybe a little bit.

As the last cut from a bone previously protruding from his right shin sealed shut, Claire offered her hand to Sylar. Giving her a small smile, he gratefully accepted it. Claire leaned back as she helped pull the taller special to his feet.

…Only to have him sway to the side, clutching his head in agony. "I - I think I lost a lot of blood."

Claire sighed. "Serious head injuries take a little longer to come back from. Just speaking from experience."

Before she could offer an arm to Sylar, on which to steady himself, a black, padded arm beat her to it. Except that the agent who the arm belonged to wasn't offering support.

He was brandishing a wicked looking tazer, which he promptly plunged into Sylar's exposed neck. In his already weakened state, the ex-killer didn't stand a chance.

As Sylar crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap, Claire found herself staring down a circle of long range scopes.

Claire and Sylar had taken too long. She watched a heavy black boot kick Sylar from his side onto his back. Claire felt a roaring in her ears as one of the agents pulled a zip tie around her wrists.

It was too late to run.

_ OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO_

A/N #2: I would be remiss if I didn't credit Vespaer for the "Oo" page break (mine is slightly different) and for the hilarious suggestion that Sylar take a moment to enjoy some of Claire's finer…assets. lol


	3. In Transit

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Having a life in transit, I feel like you are always looking out the back window."

Ajay Naidu

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Ow – Shit!"

Peter briefly saw stars when the back of his head connected with the metal interior of the unmarked van in which he found himself an unwilling passenger. Unconsciously, he made to rub what promised to be a sizable bump. The pair of stainless steel handcuffs looped around the metal bar on the floor of the van, however, prevented upward movement beyond a couple of inches. Peter longed to unfold himself from his hunched position on the hard floor and stretch his legs.

The vehicle lurched again. This time, Peter just barely managed to save his head from making contact.

"_Dirt road maybe?"_ Peter mused absently. After all, he had all the time in the world to think on his current predicament, or at least it seemed that way. He estimated that he had been traveling in the van for maybe six to eight hours, based on thirst level and almost painful urge to urinate.

The collar of his navy blue paramedic uniform was beginning to chafe against his neck.

"_Bad day to wear a long sleeved undershirt, huh Pete?" _Peter closed his eyes and leaned back as much as his uncomfortable position allowed. The tight, enclosed space only seemed to get hotter as the day (or night?) wore on.

Peter could assume that his kidnapping was "Special" related. Wasn't it always?

Thinking about abilities led his thoughts to the other evolved humans in his life.

Specifically, Peter wondered how Gabriel's meeting with Claire had gone. Hopefully, the two were actually having real conversation. Maybe Claire would realize that she and the former watchmaker were quite alike. Maybe she would be able to actually see some of herself in the redeemed villain.

Peter took a deep breath and then exhaled though pursed lips. It wouldn't matter if his niece and roommate reached any kind of an understanding if they were caught too.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was stunned. Metaphorically. She couldn't believe this was happening. It seemed like every time her life started to resemble something close to normalcy, _IT_ happened again. _IT_ could be Company interference, the fate of the world, an attack from a psycho serial killer, or an evil carnival. _IT_ was always the _something_ that pulled the elusive typical teen life just out of reach when it was almost close enough for Claire to taste.

This time it was a late night kidnapping. Well, that wasn't completely new - the Building 26 goon squad had tried that one before. This time it was a late night kidnapping after a failed escape attempt, an impromptu partnership with a former super villain, preceded by an evening stroll in a sketchy storage yard with said former super villain.

Claire was feeling bitter.

She was also feeling scared. The unknown was terrifying. Here she sat, bound hand and foot in the back what might have been the delivery van of a florist or bakery in another life heading to God-only-knows-where. Where there normally would have been seats was an exposed metal floor. Her zip-tied wrists were handcuffed to a slightly raised metal bar bolted to the floor. A thick chain stretched between her wrists and feet, looped several timed around the bar, ensured that Claire wouldn't be making a break out of the double doors at the back of the van.

That didn't stop Claire from tugging on the chains regardless.

The only sound in the small space was that of clinking steel and loose gravel rattling on the floor slats.

Nothing happened.

Frustrated, Claire slumped in defeat. Expecting cool metal, she was startled when her forehead met flesh and bone.

Sylar was stunned too. Literally, though. Despite being completely out cold after the agents had zapped him, he hadn't been spared the double cuff treatment, and the added bonus of an injection of a mystery drug. The combination of a major healing, the electric shock, and a substance probably designed to tamper abilities meant that he was down for the count, at least for the time being. He hadn't moved in the past couple hours. And, as usual, Claire was deemed only a mild threat and had been left wide awake to stew in the darkness. She thought this over as her forehead rested on Sylar's slack knuckles.

Claire sighed. She was too tired, mentally and physically, to move. What Sylar didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Maybe she could catch a quick nap.

The short hairs on the back of Sylar's hands scraped Claire's soft skin.

Or not.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

In a light doze between slumber and awareness, Peter found it hard to concentrate his thoughts.

_Emma…what if they got Emma…Why didn't I agree to go over to her apartment tonight after work... Because I wanted to be home when Gabriel got in after talking to Claire…What if they caught Claire and Gabriel too…I wonder if Gabe managed to get her to listen to him…did Gabe remember to pick up the groceries before meeting Claire…if not would there be enough syrup for waffles the next morning? _

Peter gave his head a shake. He needed to focus.

Dehydration and exhaustion were taking a toll on Peter's resolve, however. He felt himself drifting into an uneasy sleep. Tucking his head into his chest, the last of the five senses – his sense of smell - tethering him to the world of the waking began to fade. Peter's sighed as he inhaled the antiseptic smell of the hospital clinging to the stiff fabric.

"_Peter, I don_'_t think I can do this. I can't."_

_Peter looked up from the bright red paramedic bag he was taking inventory of. "Gabriel. Look at me."_

_Two pairs of brown eyes met, one set dark with apprehension and self-doubt, the other shining with optimism. _

"_Gabriel Gray, we both know you can do this. You've studied, you've practiced, Hell, with your understanding of how EVERYTHING works, you're probably better at this job than me."_

_Sylar tugged nervously on the hem of his navy blue paramedic uniform. He looked away from Peter, eyes landing on the locker to the left of his head. A piece of white tape with the last name "Moretti" neatly printed in blue pen snagged his attention. _

"_I can't believe we're actually doing this Peter. I mean, what if someone recognizes me, or doesn't believe the cover story, or someone that needs help has an ability and I slip up, or -"_

_Sylar paused in his mounting hysteria when he felt Peter's reassuring hands grip his narrow shoulders. "Then we'll handle it. Together. This is the perfect job – you can help people, make up for some of you past, uh, mistakes," Peter only faltered for a moment, then he caught his steam again, "I'll be handy, so if there's a problem, we can deal with it, and you won't have to go it alone."_

_Sylar couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth from happening. It seemed crazy when Peter first suggested that he become a paramedic at Mercy Heights, but as Peter said, he was a natural. A few doctored documents here and there, Emma's help in the filing room, and a whole lot of reading and practice on some helpless CPR dummies, and he was able to pass the admissions requirements no problem. In less than a month, "Gabriel Moretti," Peter Petrelli's second cousin was ready for work. _

_The tender exchange between the two men was quickly broken when the locker room door swung open, revealing Peter's former partner, Hesam. _

"_I know you two are cousins or whatever, but none of that girl stuff in here, guys." He teased. Then, his brow furrowed slightly. _

"_How are you two related again?" _

"_Gabe's Mom is my mom's first cousin," Peter answered succinctly. _

_Hesam grinned at Sylar and leaned in conspiratorially. "So you're not actually one of those stuck-up silver spoon Petrelli types, are you?"_

_Sylar allowed himself a small smirk. "Well, Peter's mom Angela and I haven't always been close, but over the years, I think she's really come to see me as another son."_

_Peter glared at Sylar and gave him a friendly smack on the arm. It wouldn't have been okay, except that the two had spent enough time in Sylar's head to get over certain issues. _

_Missing the joke, Hesam looked between the two "cousins." "Yeah, I guess I can see the Italian resemblance…"_

_Peter smiled, "Yup, he's more like me every day."_

"…_Only better looking." Sylar quickly supplied. _

_Laughing, the three men walked out the door, ready for the shift to start. _

The absence of motion startled Peter into awareness. They were here. Wherever _here_ was.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire awoke when she felt something, or _someone_, stroking the side of her left cheek. She opened one eye warily.

_Sylar. _

Claire resisted the urge to bite the long, dexterous digits not far from her mouth. Instead, she whispered, "Nice of you to wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Are you going to bust us out of here or what?"

"Me? You're the one who snores unbelievably loud. No one could sleep through that." Sylar's smirk faded as he took in their surroundings. "Actually, I only came to not long before you. And whatever they injected me with is surprisingly effective. My abilities are definitely slowed down."

He gestured towards the chains with his index finger. They shifted only ever so slightly. "I think it's because they got me while I was still healing."

Claire was about to answer when Sylar held a single finger against her lips. Her eyes narrowed, but Claire obliged by keeping silent. Then she realized why.

The van had stopped. Male voices and the crunching of gravel were muffled sounds outside the claustrophobic space. Claire strained to hear what they were saying, but couldn't make anything out.

"How are we going to play this?" Claire asked hurriedly.

Sylar blinked at her owlishly. "Well, I guess we wait for my powers to come back fully, and then we make a break for it. I can feel them coming back already."

Claire, bit her lip nervously, "But what if we're not the only ones that got kidnapped? We have to stick around and see who else we can save. And no hurting anyone."

Clair could just barely see Sylar roll his eyes in the gloom.

"Seriously, Claire? I'm not some kind of an attack dog. Besides," He added in a lofty tone of voice, "I'm in the business of _helping_ people these days, not hurting them."

Claire didn't even want to begin to interpret what that last statement meant. And she didn't have to, because at that moment, the double doors were thrown open and the two immortals were blinded by bright, yellow lights.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	4. Every Action Or Inaction

A/N: Adding to the disclaimer for this chapter, I also don't own the information gathered from the Heroes Wiki or Assignment Tracker 2.0 at the Primatech Paper Company website, Kodak, or the President of the USA. Yeah… I guess you'll just have to see where that all fits in. ;)

Tada! Chapter 4: Every Action…Or Inaction

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Throughout history it has been the _inaction_ of those who could have acted, the indifference of those who should have known better, the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most, that has made it possible for evil to triumph.

-Haile Selassie

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"You're not going to get away with this."

No response.

"I can't wait to see what happens when my Dad finds out."

No response.

Claire knew that on one level, she probably sounded like a petulant child. At the same time though, it wasn't an idle threat. There were few things in life Noah Bennet took more seriously than the protection of his family.

Besides, words were really all Claire had to fight back with at this point.

She was flanked on either side by two burly men who each had a black-gloved hand tightly secured around her biceps. The lack of response from the agents was unnerving. Claire was speaking not only in an attempt to maintain the façade of self assurance, but also to fill the void the silence left. Sylar hadn't said anything since the two specials were roughly pulled out of the van only moments before.

Claire risked a glance behind to ascertain that her unwilling companion was, in fact, still there. She managed to catch the raise of one busy eyebrow in her direction before she was roughly pulled back to face forward again. She glared into the darkness.

It was hard to really determine where the van had stopped. It was still night out, that was certain. There was a low lying fog that also made visibility difficult. They were marched across a parking lot, or some kind of concrete yard towards a short building. The closer they drew to the structure, the deeper the pit in Claire's stomach seemed to grow.

Barbwire.

There was barbwire on top of ten feet tall fences obscuring anyone on the outside from knowing what was on the inside. The fences were an extension of the short red building on both sides, with no gaps in between the brick of the building and the concrete of the walls. The fences, for their part, seemed to stretch on forever before disappearing into the gloom. Before entering the establishment, it would be impossible to determine exactly how long the gray walls went on for, or the size of the compound. As Claire and her unwanted escorts stopped at the entrance, she was sure she didn't want go ahead and find out. As one of the men stopped to punch in an access code on the raised keypad, Claire craned her neck to read the words above the barred entrance:

**BLACKBURN MENTAL INSTITUTION FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE **

Claire now knew what it meant to actually _feel _a chill run down your spine.

As she stood there numbly gaping at the inscription above the wrought iron gate, the escort to her right finished his administrations. A loud buzz rent through the air. The bars swung open to reveal a second door, this one constructed of what looked to Claire like reinforced titanium steel. One of their captors promptly unlocked it with a swipe of a card and more button pushing.

As she and Sylar were shoved through the entrance, one of Sylar's guards finally spoke. In a mocking baritone, he snickered, "Welcome home, freaks."

Claire wasn't sure if she was only one that heard the echo of the heavy door slamming or if it only sounded that loud in her mind.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Sylar was conflicted.

_Five years trapped in your own head, no matter how lonesome or terrible it was, wasn't nearly enough time to atone for your sins. Maybe I do deserve to be locked up. On the other hand, I could do more good in the world if I wasn't behind bars. _

Not helpful.

_I could make a break for it right now, and get myself and Claire to safety. The longer we wait to escape, the less likelihood it'll be a clean getaway. It would only complicate matters the further we get into this creepy looking building. _

Another thought intruded: _But Claire was right when she said there might be other specials who would need saving. Peter could be with them. Added bonus – maybe if you save the day, Claire would be one step closer to being able to stand being in the same room with you._

_Just kill everyone in sight and enact vengeance on these idiots. Feel the returning powers at your fingertips_. One thing he couldn't abide by, even as a "good" person was a loss of control.

_Wait! You made an oath to Peter to do no harm, and violence won't endear yourself to Claire either. _

Sylar found the weight of his thoughts a heavy burden. Life was easier when he only had himself to look out for, a clear mission (become the _best_ evolution had to offer), and the free range to do whatever it takes to meet his goals.

Reintegration back into _normal_ society when you're _abnormal_ wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Sylar found himself victim to his own ability as his intuitive aptitude urged him to _understand_ exactly what he should do in this situation. He didn't know. For every plan of action, there was a contradiction on why he couldn't do that. Such as, physically he could kill these guards and escape, but ethically, he shouldn't. Not _knowing_ what the correct response in this situation was more than just frustrating – it was downright dangerous. The longer Sylar mired himself in what-ifs and possibilities, the more helpless he felt. Sylar was quickly spiraling towards inaction, which he knew to be maybe the worst choice of all.

Sylar remained silent behind Claire, allowing her to do all the talking. Meanwhile, he tried to stay aware of their surroundings as much as possible despite the mile-a-minute thought processes that were almost making him dizzy. One thought blared louder over the din of all the others.

_Peter. I need Peter. _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter was feeling a little woozy.

He had been kidnapped from the ambulance bay at work, thrown into a van, ridden countless miles in a parody of the lotus position, dragged through the corridors of a strange building, and signed over to a harried nurse who had promptly injected him with a syringe full of God-only-knows-what blue liquid.

This was not the young paramedic's night.

After the injection, Peter was lead by two men clad in white scrubs to a narrow bench bolted to the concrete floor. Peter hardly noticed as one of the attendants snapped a second pair of handcuffs onto the chain of the ones he already wore. They closed the other ring around one of the legs of the bench. Peter was just grateful when the two white clothed men stepped to the side slightly. The exhausted paramedic used the extra breathing room to slump against the stark wall.

"Hello Peter. Fancy meeting you here."

Peter peered through bangs that Gabe would have told him either needed to be cut or gelled to meet the rueful gaze of Mohinder Suresh. He was slumped against the wall along with Hiro Nakamura and Ando Masahashi. They looked as bad as Peter felt. Peter nodded to the Japanese pair in recognition.

"Hi Mohinder. Let me guess, you arrived here via the unmarked van express?"

The geneticist nodded.

"And you, Peter, also received the special treatment of handcuffs and drugs at the time of your abduction and again just now?"

Peter closed his eyes. "Yup. That trip took forever."

Mohinder smiled humorlessly, "Imagine the journey from India to here."

Hiro leaned in, "Or from Japan." Ando rolled his shoulders in agreement, trying to release some of the stiffness in his upper body.

Peter opened his eyes and straightened his spine. "Where is _here?_" He looked around as if the brightly lit room would give a clue as to their location.

The room was about the size of an average hospital waiting room. One wall was almost completely covered by a shiny mirror, which Peter could bet was actually an observation window. The only furniture in the sparse area was the bench the four men were presently sitting on, and a matching one complete with ready handcuffs against the opposite wall. A brown box intercom was affixed to the corner of the white wall slightly above the two-way mirror. While the handcuffs and mirror looked like recent additions, the bulky shape of the communication system and watermarked floor suggested that this was a very old facility.

The nurse doling out injections peeked into the room to give the men a disinterested expression. She appeared satisfied that no one was going anywhere; her flat face disappeared back around the door frame.

Peter heard the clicks of heels on tile fade down the hallway.

He closed his eyes and allowed his heavy eyelids to close.

_Might as well rest for now. It doesn't look like we'll be going anywhere anytime soon…_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Give it a break, little girl. You're here now so you better suck it up and shut up."

Peter inhaled sharply as he awoke. The room was…diagonal.

His head was resting on Mohinder's shoulder.

"Oh wow. So you can string more than three words together at a time. Congratulations. Wanna tell us why we're here, other than to increase the combined total of IQ's in this party above a hundred points?"

Elbowing Mohinder awake as he sat up ramrod straight, Peter _knew_ that voice. Any moment, he was sure the sardonic smirk accompanying it would come into view.

Sure enough, being led behind Claire and her muscle men escorts was Gabriel Gray, smirk firmly in place, with his own two guards.

"_Wait – What? What are Claire and Gabe doing here?"_ Peter really hoped that the presence of the mismatched pair was part of a grand scheme to bust them out or something. Or anything that meant that they hadn't been bested too.

Peter looked to Claire's round face for clues. She looked tired. Frustrated. Tense. And also a little like she was biting her lower lip to keep from smiling at Gabriel's smartass comment.

Choosing to ignore his prisoner's rebuke, the more imposing of the two men flanking Gabriel scanned the room containing the four chained captives.

"Where's whatsherface. Janine or Janice or whatever. The nurse?"

"It speaks again. And here I thought you were going to be a one-hit wonder."

Peter glared in his roommate's direction, hoping to catch his eye. Gabriel was running his mouth, which meant he was scared and trying to get control over the situation. The problem was, if he had been injected with whatever the rest of them had, he probably had no powers, meaning he was just going to get himself hurt. Judging from the first comment from the red-faced agent, Peter assumed that his friend was also attempting to be chivalrous and draw negative attention away from Claire and onto him.

Apparently, it worked.

The man, already gripping Gabriel's right arm tighter than what was probably regulation, used his height advantage to pull the shorter man in close to him so that he was leaning directly into the former watchmaker's face.

"You. Cut the lip. _Now_. It was annoying enough from Blondie over here, but at least she's something to look at."

Peter felt his blood boil. This _pig _had managed to objectify his niece and threaten his best friend all in one statement. If he wasn't chained to the bench…

Before he could say anything, the wall seemed to suddenly open. A door painted the same bland palette as the walls slowly shut as a serious looking man in a lab coat surveyed the situation. The man's neat appearance, from his tidily parted slate gray hair to his gleaming black loafers contrasted sharply with the general dishevelment of the assembled specials.

Resting interlocked hands on top of an emerging paunch, he pursed his lips in thought. After a moment of intense staring, he finally spoke in the practiced tones of one speaking to a child.

"Agent Jackson, please take a step away from the patient. Young man, _you_ would do well to hold your tongue."

Gabriel looked at the new addition to this increasingly bizarre scenario with narrowed eyes.

Peter was reminded of the high noon showdowns from the spaghetti westerns Nathan used to make him watch on Saturday afternoons as a kid. Even when faced with the disturbingly intent stare over small wireframe glasses, Gabriel Gray was not going to back down.

"What if I don't want to?"

Choosing to ignore the younger man's challenging tone; the man allowed himself a small smile. Peter looked back and forth between the two, trepidation growing in his gut. There was something _off_ about the way the newcomer was regarding Gabriel. There was a dangerous glint in his eye that belied the mocking smile he pasted onto his narrow face. Added to the overall air of calm and superiority he was projecting, Peter couldn't describe the man as anything less than predatory.

"Oh Sylar. Or should I call you by your real name, Mr. Gray?" He didn't pause for a response. He began to pace a lazy circle around the trio of captive and captors. "We know _all_ about you. Like now for example – you're trying to antagonize these upstanding agents, manipulate their emotions until they become sloppy. Then you'll dazzle us with an array of super powers and bloodshed while escaping"

A muscle in Gabriel's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly.

"In fact, we even know that it's not just your charming personality that aids you in emotional blackmail. Your ability grants you understanding of the way people work – physically and mentally?"

He wasn't really asking.

"My name is Dr. Flanagan." He stopped circling Gabriel just behind his left shoulder. Although he didn't turn his head, both of Gabriel's dark eyes swiveled over his shoulder. Curiosity was just in his nature. The sinister man leaned in until his lips were almost touching his newest charge's ear.

"We are going to get very closely acquainted with one another Mr. Gray."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The way the creepy doctor was breathing on Sylar was completely nauseating. Sylar's face remained passive, but as Claire had observed from their previous interactions, his eyes always betrayed him. Sylar's eyes, hopeful earlier that night while they chatted, anguished by her rejection, and mischievous when leading the chase and when mouthing off to the guard, "Jackson," were projecting the same fear and trepidation that she felt.

Dr. Flanagan resumed his walkabout, reaching for a stack of folders presented to him by a nervous looking aid. He strode over to the empty bench. He reached towards the bottom of the stack and pulled out a manila folder three times as thick as the others. Photographs and papers leaked out the sides of the straining cardboard. Dr. Flanagan rested the other folders on the bench and began to casually thumb through the contents of the largest dossier.

"I supposed I'm not being totally honest when I say we'll be getting to know one another. You see, I already know quite a bit about you, Gabriel Gregory Gavin Gray."

Out of the context of the situation, Claire might have found the revelation of her enemy's alliterative given name amusing.

"Born: Brooklyn, New York

"Age: Thirty-two

"Complexion: Fair

"Build: Slight"

Here the doctor paused, peering over the folder at Sylar with appraising eyes. Claire was reminded of how her mother inspected choice cuts of meat at the supermarket.

"Weight: 150 pounds

"Height: Five feet, ten inches – hmmm. Some of these measurements will have to be retaken. The notations, secured from the Primatech Company, may be a little outdated. However, I see here," He pointed at a spot on the paper hidden behind the covers of the folder, "That this information was obtained during your initial testing at the Odessa facility. I don't suppose that special, _or not, _a man suddenly has a growth spurt shortly before his thirtieth birthday, yet you appear to be over six foot. Care to share with us how that happened?"

"No." Sylar stared back defiantly. Claire could see though, that the tips of his ears, barely visible underneath messy dark hair still matted with blood, were slowly burning a shade of deep pink.

In one fluid motion, the doctor reached into the folds of his white doctor's coat, pulled out a small pistol, and promptly shot Peter below the kneecap.

Claire couldn't contain the small shriek that escaped her lips, nor Sylar apparently, the string of obscenities that escaped his. Mohinder and the Japanese duo added their protests to the growing din while Peter attempted to take deep breaths.

Their unwelcome host raised one slightly wrinkled hand for silence.

"Now, you will comply with my wishes, and then I will allow Miss Bennet to heal her dear uncle. Show me."

Closing his mouth and sucking on his bottom lip, Sylar kicked off one of his emerald green converse. The laces of the high tops seemed suspiciously to loosen on their own accord. _"Good. His telekinesis is back. Any minute now, we'll make a break for it." _

As Sylar removed the other shoe, Claire remembered Peter saying once in passing that he was going to get "Gabe" in colors if it was the last thing he did. Probably, they had been a gift from the young paramedic, now white with pain and rapid blood loss. Claire was glad that although she couldn't help Peter, at least Mohinder Suresh was applying direct pressure to the wound.

"It's just a stupid trick with telekinesis – not worth shooting someone over." Claire was beginning to connect the dots and realize that "snarky" was Sylar's way of concealing his true emotions. If what Peter said was true, that he and his roommate were really the best of friends, the former serial killer must have been horrified by the act of violence just moments before.

"I float. I TK my feet to the top of my shoes on the inside – as long as they're loose enough it works – to gain about an inch or so. Then I hover just above the ground so only my toes are touching. It gives the appearance that I'm on the ground and gives me up to three inches more of height." Sylar faltered, embarrassment and shame leaking through his façade for a split second. He schooled his face into a fierce expression and continued. "No one hears footsteps coming that aren't there."

Claire was sickened. She understood that Sylar was probably trying to gain the upper hand against this disturbing man by instilling some of his own fear and threats. His last chilling admission however, only served to remind Claire how close she had been to trusting the killer earlier that evening. Jackie's red streaked face flashed through her mind.

She wasn't the only one.

"Dale Smither. You bastard," Mohinder growled. "That's why she never heard you coming."

Sylar faltered once more, casting his eyes downward to examine the tile floor.

This only seemed to further fuel Dr. Flanagan's attack.

"Ah yes," He intoned, "A kill of yours? They're all in here." He began tossing 8x10 printouts of gruesome crime scenes to Sylar's feet.

"James Walker, Zane Taylor, Dale Smither – there she is, Isaac Mendez , Ted Sprague, Bob Bishop, Bridget Bailey, Jesse Murphy," He broke off his list to take a breath. He tossed the rest of the photos in one stack on top of Sylar's sock covered feet. "The list goes on. And on. And those are only the ones we know about." Shaking his head in a gesture of feigned admonishment, he chided Sylar softly. "You have been a very naughty young man."

Sylar shifted uncomfortably. Claire, and everyone else in the room, stared intently at the man they were discovering more about by the minute. She was sure that the expressions of horror and disgust on Mohinder, Hiro, and Ando's faces were mirrored on her own.

Sylar visibly wilted under the scrutiny of the heroes he had been trying so hard to prove himself to. His eyes flickered anxiously over to Peter, who normally would have been his advocate in such a dire situation. Unfortunately for Sylar, Peter was barely conscious. No one else was going to defend him. "I – I - I didn't –"

"You didn't what? Didn't slaughter those people? Didn't _mean_ to end the lives of others for your own gain?" The ruthless doctor was on a roll. "Mr. Gray, you are _not_ the victim here. You are the villain."

Claire swallowed hard. That was true, wasn't it? Wasn't that what she had been telling Peter ever since he went on his crusade to prove Sylar's redemption to the world?

The knot in her stomach told her otherwise.

The doctor wasn't finished. "'Infusion of foreign DNA into Sylar's genome has corrupted his mind and moral compass. He began seeing himself as vastly superior to average people, which gave him - in his mind - the moral authority to kill at will. He became sociopathic and singularly focused on gaining more abilities. If still alive with his powers intact, his desire to be increasingly "special" will surely compel him to seek out additional victims.' Hmpf. Do you know what that means? Anyone?"

Claire wanted to punch the man in the face. How anyone could maintain the air of a mildly disinterested professor while discussing murder and mental illness was as sick as…Sylar.

"It means that _Sylar_," He uttered the watchmaker's alias like an insult, "enjoys killing. What a… disturbed individual."

With a dramatic flourish he pulled an additional photograph out of the worn dossier. The doctor held it up for all to see; Claire wanted to look away.

It was Sylar this time. Not one of his victims. The picture was grainy, but not so unclear as to hide his identity or the deep red stains on a khaki uniform. Or the contented smile.

"I believe this Kodak moment was captured on a security camera as you were leaving the office building in which Susan Landers worked. You know, Sue with the lie detection ability?"

Finally, Sylar spoke. He raised his head and in a trembling voice announced, "I'm different now. That was someone else. I'm using my ability to help people now."

In two long strides, the doctor was back in Sylar's personal space. Now a head taller than the younger man, he leaned in until his nose was an inch from Sylar's glistening eyes.

He stage whispered so everyone could hear, "Does it tingle when you lie to yourself?"

Silence.

One of the guards coughed.

"No matter. What matters is that you are now in the custody of the government of the United States of America. It may have taken almost five years for this day to come, but rest assured, the FBI and Homeland Security never forgot about you." He flicked through a couple of pages before clearing his throat. Claire imagined that the action was mostly for show; this doctor certainly had a flair for theatrics.

"In the event that Gabriel Gray, Alias: Sylar, is captured, he is to be immediately remanded into the custody of the Blackburn containment facility. Human Rights normally granted to detained individuals under the amendments of the Constitution of the United States will not apply in this unique situation. Gray is hereby classified as an "unlawful combatant." Treatment is at the discretion of the Blackburn facility staff. Permission for containment, restraint, drug therapy, and use of force is hereby granted. Permission for all access experimentation and testing on meta-human abilities, a cure for said abilities, and any other scientific exploration with hypothesized benefit for the greater good is hereby granted. Gray will be permanently detained until such time that his case is reviewed by facility staff and representatives of the U.S. government. At this time, there are no grounds for appeal or chance of parole.

"Re -signed, the President of the United States of America. February 8, 2010"

If Claire thought the room couldn't get any colder, she was now proven incorrect.

Sylar did not react well to the news he was just given. If Claire had to guess, she would say he was torn between an urge to vomit or rip the smug doctor in half.

"That's – well – no!" Usually so eloquent, it unnerved Claire to see Sylar flounder for words. He raised one index finger in a familiar motion.

"You will comply with this legal document. Now." The doctor's voice had gone scarily deep. Without breaking eye contact with Sylar, he pointed the gun at Peter again and nodded to the guards. They removed their own weapons from their holsters. Claire felt a cool barrel nudge the back of her head. Guns were trained on the other heroes present in the room as well. Sylar looked around desperately.

"What's it going to be then? Can you save them all, Sylar?"

Sylar's furrowed brow and bit lip that began to trickle a steady stream of blood betrayed his self doubt. Taking advantage of his opponent's hesitation, Dr. Flanagan quickly withdrew a long syringe from his coat pocket. He expertly thrust it through the denim of Sylar's jeans and into the tender flesh of his right thigh.

Claire watched as though she was trapped in some macabre movie as Sylar crumpled to the ground for the third time that night. This time was unquestionably the worst, as she could actually see his face before it went slack.

Murky brown eyes met green before glazing over. It might have been Claire's own guilt that she said nothing, _did_ nothing, during the doctor's exposition that made her read accusation in those pain filled orbs.

Claire had just watched her chance at escaping fade along with Gabriel Gray.

And that didn't upset her nearly as much the sight of his motionless body.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	5. Guilty

A/N: Wow, look at all those reviews! Thanks everyone!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"So what's it going to be then? Crossword or Wordsearch?"

Claire couldn't believe that this is what her life had been reduced to.

It had been three months and two days since _that night_.

Three months and two days since she last saw Sylar… or that creepy doctor.

Three months and two days since she, Peter, or any of the other "patients" showed genuine emotion.

Three months and two days since she showered using actual hair products, not all purpose shampoo-body wash.

Three months and two days since she picked out her own clothes to wear.

Claire looked down at her loose fitting scrubs. According to the tag on the waistline, they were "whale blue." If not stylish, at least they were comfortable.

Nothing else about the situation was. Claire was imprisoned at a Mental Institution in an unknown location, with the same routine day after day. Was this what eternity would be like?

"Miss Bennet – Crossword or Wordsearch? You're holding up the line."

Claire glanced behind her. Mohinder and Peter looked like they were in no rush to secure their entertainment for "Indoor Recreation Hour!"

"Crossword, please."

Claire offered the expressionless nurse a thin smile as she was handed the copy of "1000+ Themed Crosswords!" she had been working on every day since Day One. She received no smile in return. Janine or Joanna (everyone thought it started with J, but the bland, unenergetic way the woman did everything didn't exactly make her memorable) wearily intoned, "Neeeeeext" as soon as Claire had shuffled out of the way.

Claire sank into the corner of the worn sofa, (that unfortunately matched her outfit), with her volume of crosswords and allotted pencil (sharp, but not _too_ sharp – they wouldn't want anyone to get _hurt_).

With a sigh, she began the "down" clues.

_One: Seven letter word – deserved reward or punishment, fair dealing. _

"_Well, now that Mr. Gray has been brought to justice, does anyone else have anything to say?" The doctor looked smugly at the shocked faces of the remaining specials. "No?" He nodded to the two agents standing on either side of Sylar's crumpled form. Jackson, the one who had words with the unconscious man earlier, leaned down and grabbed Sylar's wrists none too gently. He and his partner dragged the specials' last chance of escape out the door and out of sight_.

_**JUSTICE**_

_Three: Four letter word – a statement of what to do and what not to do; a law; a principle governing conduct, action, arrangement, etc._

"_As of this moment, you are all a part of a secret USA government initiative to contain those with so-called "special" abilities. Rule One: You will comply with all rules of this facility. Failure to do so will result in punishment. Rule Two: Each day you will willingly present yourselves in a single file line in the common room at oh-seven hundred hours to begin your day and for suppressant injections without complaint; at twenty-hundred hours you will do the same, followed by lights out. Rule Three: You will not attempt to escape. Rule Four: You will not question the whereabouts of Mr. Gray._

_**RULE**_

_Five: Nine letter word – morally right or justifiable, *Blank* indignation. _

"_You can't do this!" Claire finally found her voice, struggling not to spill the tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. The doctor raised one eyebrow questioningly; the gesture only served to further remind Claire of…someone else. Dr. Flanagan paused as he drew a small amount of blood from just below Claire's elbow. "You _don't _want me to help your dear Uncle Peter?" _

"_No! I mean, yes! You know what I mean! You can't just kidnap people and put them in prison without a trial!" _

"_Miss Bennet, calm yourself. Your righteous indignation is astounding. I didn't hear you say anything to the contrary when we welcomed Mr. Gray."_

_**RIGHTEOUS**_

_Seven: Six letter word – having done wrong; deserving to be blamed and punished; or knowing or showing that one has done wrong. _

_Claire didn't need reminding of her guilt from standing by as Sylar was intimidated by the evil doctor. He might not have been innocent, but she was beginning to think the former watchmaker couldn't be judged only in black and white. _

"_Regardless, you must know on some level why you are here – why all of you are here. You are a threat to society. With unchecked powers, can you imagine the threat you pose?" The doctor fixed his unflinching stare on Claire's anguished face. "Miss Bennet, from the moment you foolishly leapt off the Ferris wheel in New York, you must have known that there would be repercussions. The world simply is not prepared for people like you. The government managed to cover that up nicely," Claire remembered. It certainly seemed odd at the time that every major news station in the country had broadcasted retractions and stories of an elaborate hoax in the days following the fiasco. _

"_You are guilty just by _existing."

_Peter, now refreshed, looked as horrified as Claire felt. "Claire's right. Everything about this situation is really sick. And where did you take Gabriel?"_

_Dr. Flanagan leveled his gaze on Peter. "Rule Four, Peter. I'll let it go – this time. Don't make that mistake again." _

_He continued his exposition. "Miss Bennet, anyone who willingly jumps to their death is obviously disturbed. I think you'll find you all share various mental...illnesses. Miss Bennet, suicidal tendencies; Mr. Petrelli, also suicidal tendencies if the rumors are to be believed, and schizophrenia – just look at those delusions of grandeur; Dr. Suresh, I believe you've spent time stateside in Florida recently; need I go on? Which brings me to my next point: While you are here, the higher-ups," he sneered disdainfully, "have decided you would all benefit from some therapy. How appropriate - given our location. It was not chosen accidently."_

_Claire felt that sinking feeling again. _

"_Keep the rules in mind. For now, our only objective is containment. Mr. Gray is the exception to this. I don't think you want to join him."_

_**GUILTY**_

Claire tossed her pencil onto the couch cushions in front of her. What kind of a crossword puzzle was that anyways? She glanced at the title:

_Crime and Punishment_

Right. Claire snapped the book shut. That was enough for today.

Looking at the caged clock at the wall, Claire saw that time had passed much faster than she anticipated. It was almost time for "Afternoon Group Therapy!" Claire watched the second hand tick evenly around the face. She never realized before how soothing the tick-tock motion of a clock could be. It was musical in its own way.

"Hello? Claire?"

Claire shook her head. She had just spent another fifteen minutes staring at a clock, for goodness sakes. She was turning into…_Don't go there, Claire. _

"Yeah, Peter?"

Peter offered his hand to Claire. "It's time to go. Therapy time."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter shifted slightly on his hard backed metal chair.

"Peter, what are your thoughts?"

What were Peter's thoughts?

_This is ridiculous. _

_Matt Parkman's marriage is none of my business. Why are we even talking about this?_

_How did Matt feel about this intrusion into his personal life? He arrived only a week after us, so that means he hasn't seen his son or wife in almost three months._

_Claire looked really zoned out during Rec. Hour earlier. I should talk to her after Group is over. _

_How was Gabriel coping with whatever he was dealing with right now? It sounded pretty ominous…_

"Peter?"

"Yeah. Ummmmm."

Peter was saved from having to answer whether or not he thought Matt's marital problems were detrimental to the stay at home dad's psyche by a knock at the door.

The orderly entered and passed a note to their therapist. She scanned it quickly and nodded to herself.

"Peter, Claire, please follow Stevens. Dr. Flanagan wishes to speak to the two of you."

Peter felt his stomach sink to his feet.

_This can't be good. _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire hardly noticed her surroundings as she and Peter were escorted across the compound. The handcuffs connecting them rustled in the breeze.

Claire glanced at Peter. He squeezed her hand supportively.

The lone guard didn't say anything to his charges. The fact that there was only one guard assigned to the two of them was telling in itself – she and Peter weren't considered a serious threat.

Why would they be? In a strange turn of events, Claire hadn't been subjected to the twice daily suppressant injection. Neither had Peter. He had been forced by Dr. Creepy to take her ability as soon as his first dose had worn off. They had been given no other explanation than, "Someday the day might come where one or both of you decide to _volunteer_ your special gift to our laboratories. When that day comes, we can't have your abilities dampened. Besides, _healing_," he intoned with feigned disinterest, "isn't exactly the most dangerous ability in the world."

Claire didn't like to think too long on what that might mean for her and her uncle's sakes.

Lost in her thoughts, Claire was startled when the trio stopped their march. She was surprised to see that they had left the long, but squat, buildings that comprised their new home for a tall, gray building. The multistoried structure looked out of place in the furthest corner of the yard. The imposing concrete was surrounded by a sparse brown lot.

"_Not exactly the most inspiring place_." Claire shuddered, _"This must be where they're keeping Sylar."_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter squared his shoulders as they entered the drab building. While he was anxious, another part of him was filled with an optimism that had been somewhat tarnished since the separation from his roommate three months ago. Peter really hoped that they might see Sylar at some point – even just to ascertain that he was still alive.

He and Claire were led into what was obviously an interrogation room. The cramped, darkened room was occupied by a long table with a single chair facing two on the opposite side. Unsurprisingly, facing a two-way mirror was everyone's favorite doctor.

"Miss Bennet, Mr. Petrelli – welcome. It's good to see the two of you again." He turned to face the pair with an amicable smile.

Peter's retort to the contrary died on his lips as soon as he saw a smile wasn't the only thing out of place on the scientist's visage. A large bruise, yellowing on the edges, was easily discernable behind his round glasses.

Claire apparently noticed as well, and was emboldened by the physical sign of weakness. "So, I guess _somebody_ didn't follow the rules. Was that nasty looking shiner your punishment, Dr. Eff?"

The smile slid off the man's face just as quickly as it went on.

"You know, Miss Bennet, I do think Mr. Gray has been an unfortunate influence. You were secured together, I believe?"

Peter _knew_ that he knew that already. He touched Claire's elbow in warning, "Claire…"

Claire wasn't listening though. Three months of holding her tongue meant she had a lot of pent up anger towards this man.

"What _exactly_ is that supposed to mean?"

The doctor leaned in. "It _means_ that the two of you were spending time together when you shouldn't have been. You have every reason to hate him, and yet you were out for a moonlight stroll together that night. How quaint."

Peter watched as Claire's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "It wasn't like that!" Claire had been tight lipped about the conversation before the abduction. Of the latter he had heard plenty. Seeing her reaction now, Peter had to wonder…

"And Claire," the malicious doctor leaned in, "You'll do well to keep quiet. We can take away that lovely ability of yours, fast acting metabolism be damned. Do you really want to lose it?"

Peter didn't like the sound of that, knowing who the test subject was.

Sensing Claire's hesitation, Dr. Flanagan went in for the kill. "You'd be amazed what a combination of sedatives, suppressants, physical strain, and starvation does to the body. There is no such thing as invincibility."

Peter _really _didn't like the sound of that.

"But I've said too much." He clapped his hands together cheerfully. "Let's get to the purpose of this little get-together. Have a seat, please."

Peter and Claire glanced at each other side-long before taking the two chairs opposite their host.

"Who's Elle?"

Peter's eyebrows shot up of their own accord. That was unexpected. He cautiously ventured, "You must know. You have the Primatech Files. Why are you asking us?"

The doctor sighed, before rubbing a hand over tired eyes. _So he is human after all, huh. _

"Let me be more specific then. Who is Elle Bishop to Gabriel Gray?"

Peter wasn't sure how much to say. Obviously, they hadn't gotten _everything_ from Primatech, or he would know about their fledgling relationship from the footage of Elle's undercover mission. Peter filed that information away for later. He also knew all about Gabe and Elle's romance while working for his father. As unwilling prisoners in the villain's head, and later as roommates, the two men shared everything with one another.

Sylar (because that's who he was then) and Elle had tried to abduct Claire together, so Peter knew she was aware of that part of their relationship too. She was staring straight ahead at the doctor, unwilling to sell his best friend out.

Peter was proud of his niece. He spared her from having to answer.

"Why?"

The doctor looked like he was beginning to lose his patience. He removed a small tape recorder from his lab coat pocket and slapped it on the table. He pressed play.

"Please no-just kill me-ohGodohGodohGodohGodohGodoh-Ellllllllllllllllle!"

Agonized screams magnified in the small space. The recording was muffled, and the voice was distorted with terror and slightly slurred, but Peter knew that voice. He even recognized the hollering from when he tried to beat Nathan out of him.

The almost inhuman wailing eventually died down. Peter closed his eyes to block out the uncaring expression the evil man before him wore. The sound of breath hitching in short gasps filled the room.

_Click_

There was only heavy silence.

Peter opened his eyes to see moisture on the stainless steel surface of the table. Another drop landed on the cool surface after rolling down Claire's cheek.

"At first we thought he was saying 'Hell'. It made sense given the context of the situation. But then we realized he wasn't. The team is curious." The doctor pressed record on the small, black box.

"Why is he saying Elle?"

Peter honestly didn't know. He knew that Gabriel regretted killing her. He knew that Gabe loved her twice…but he didn't anymore. It didn't make sense for him to be crying out her name like that. Unless…unless it was ability related - if they were somehow torturing him with electricity?

"Is it because he feels remorse from when he killed her for the ability?"

Peter barely managed to conceal his surprise. Apparently, the smug doctor wasn't so all knowing after all. Gabriel didn't kill Elle for her blue lightning…._which means_ _he doesn't know about his empathy._ The revelation shocked Peter. Despite being tortured, Gabriel hadn't given up that information. Well, Peter wasn't going to.

"I think so. They had a fling, but she deceived him. Her ability was too tempting, and he couldn't resist."

"Why are you telling me this?" The doctor was smart, Peter could give him that.

"Because I guess I'm hoping you'll go easier on him knowing that he's human too? That he feels love like anyone else? And regret?" _Except for monsters like you, that is._

"I doubt it, but thank you for this information." He glanced at his watch with exaggerated surprise. "Look at the time. I must be off to visit our _special_ patient. And you two better run along to your supper hour. I hear that the Saturday night meatloaf is to die for. Wouldn't want to miss that."

He snapped his fingers at the mirror, and an orderly appeared almost instantly.

Peter and Claire were hurried out of the building, still unsure of what had just happened. The bright sky outside felt horribly out of place compared to what they had just heard.

Despite the warm weather – _it must be late spring now _– Peter's insides felt cold.

He felt like he had just betrayed his friend by revealing a part of his past. He reasoned that he had to though, to keep that asshole from discovering the truth about Gabriel's abilities.

Peter had never felt so_ powerless_ in his life.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	6. We Meet Again

A/N: Warning for this chapter: towards the end, there's an unpleasant description of a victim of abuse. Please skip if this offends you.

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"You and I will meet again, When we're least expecting it, One day in some far off place, I will recognize your face…"

~Tom Petty

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"My chocolate pudding for your banana?"

Claire knew that was a lame attempt at stimulating the conversation at the lunch table, but at least she was _trying_.

Peter sighed. "Sure Claire. Here you go." They made the switch. Claire didn't even like banana pudding.

A tired silence fell over the group once more.

Claire let the noise from the table behind theirs wash over her. The population had grown at Blackburn. Other inmates had joined the facility, although they mostly seemed to actually be small time criminals and miscreants, albeit with abilities. They mostly kept to their own groups, and since mealtimes and chapel were the only time periods the entire floor got together, they didn't tend to mix with Claire's crowd. They also didn't seem to mind incarceration as much. _Maybe because some of them were used to it already. _Peter's reminder to be open to meeting new people fell on deaf ears. Claire didn't want to make new friends; she wanted a way out. The longer she spent on the inside, the less friendly she felt. Due to dumb luck, there were an odd number of women, so she had a double room to herself. Claire hoped it stayed that way.

"_God. I sound like a stuck-up high school cheerleader." _Claire admonished herself. She didn't like what being cooped up was doing to her personality. She was isolating herself from everyone else…

Claire looked around at her fellow inmates seated at the long Formica table. Mohinder was poking the Tuesday Surprise, probably trying to discern what ingredients comprised the gray mush. Across from him was Matt Parkman, unenthusiastically spooning the mixture into his mouth, grimacing only every other bite. Hiro and Ando went straight to dessert, and were morosely gazing into their pudding cups. Peter was staring off into space, his attention focused on the frozen clock on the wall.

Time was not something Claire liked to think about. Another month had passed since she and Peter had been questioned by the malicious doctor.

That meant six months had passed inside facility walls. Half a year of her life had drudged by. It was hard to remember exactly what day it was, when everything stayed the same. If it weren't for Sunday night chapel, Claire wouldn't know at all. After each service, Claire would scratch a small tick into the wall underneath her metal bed frame to mark the beginning of a new week. Claire was beginning to think she might have to start a new column. Again.

Forgetting their bland lunch, Claire glanced out the barred window. Although the food was less than inspiring, the cafeteria was still one of Claire's favorite places in the prison. The room, painted the in the same drab "meant-to-be-soothing" pastel palette as the rest of the facility afforded the only glimpse into the outside world. Claire could just barely glimpse a tree in the grassy area behind the compound. She felt her appetite decrease a little more after taking in the sight of green leaves tinted with just the slightest amount of color.

It was fall now. School would have gone back by now without her. Claire felt selfish just thinking of something so ordinary. Here she was, concerned about missing her second year, if Gretchen would wonder where she was, and a hundred other _ordinary_ things while something much worse was transpiring on the other side of the blacktop.

There was still no sign of Sylar.

Claire couldn't help but wonder what was happening to her erstwhile enemy. No one had managed to keep him locked up for this long yet. She wasn't the only one with the fate of Sylar on the mind, if the dark circles under Peter's eyes were any indication. Even the others, who felt a sense of justice at his imprisonment, had to agree that there was something strange about his prolonged absence. Rule Four: "You will not question the whereabouts of Mr. Gray" was broken on a regular basis. There wasn't much else to talk about other than the monotonous daily routine. Conversations on the taboo subject were typically only held at lunch hours when noise from other tables concealed hushed voices or during chapel times, where the ancient priest was too old to hear or care whether the patients' voices were raised in prayer or discussion. So far, no one had been caught.

"Well, they're probably testing out various ability suppressants on him, because ours have changed in the past few months."

Apparently, they were talking about him again.

Peter directed his question to Mohinder, "Why do you think that?"

Mohinder wiped his mouth on a napkin and began speaking in the knowledgeable tone he normally used while explaining complicated problems to his students.

"I've noticed that the amounts of serum within the syringe we've been receiving have fluctuated several times. That would suggest variation in potency. Also, there have been noticeable changes in levels of stamina and alertness for all of us. I think we can all agree that we feel more lethargic today, compared to as last week, or even the week before?" Everyone nodded. The geneticist continued, "Arguably as well, access to our abilities has also increased and decreased at various times." Mohinder dropped his voice lower and leaned in, "Personally, there have been some days I've experienced greater than average strength, but certainly nothing that would be enormously helpful."

Matt nodded, "Well, I thought it was wishful thinking, but there have been times that I've heard quiet, muffled strains of voices – like the ghost of what someone's thinking."

"You can't DO this! Take me back!"

All conversation in the cafeteria ground to an abrupt halt.

The feminine shrieks bordering on the hysterical were echoing outside in the hallway.

"Take me back!" The voice sounded like it was trying very hard not to cry. "Please, just take me back. It was my fault – don't blame Gabriel."

Claire dug her fingernails into Peter's forearm. He gripped the table top with white knuckles.

"Please, just punish me instead."

The voice was right outside the door. A guard's keys turned in the lock.

A burly guard dressed in a black version of the white scrub outfit the orderlies wore was blocking Claire from seeing who the latest addition to the institution was. _Wait_…Claire knew that face. It was the guard that Sylar had mouthed off to when they were first brought in.

"You're not going to win, Agent Jack_ass_."

_Jackson, that was it. _

The guard paused in the doorway, his back to the group of specials craning their necks to see who was in the hallway.

"Listen up, you little bitch. If it were up to me, you'd still be in a cell over in solitary. Not joining this bunch of crazies. The only reason you're not still over there with your _boyfriend-._"

"He's not! You Creep - Gabriel's almost old enough to be my dad!"

Jackson's deeper voice carried over the indignant protest, "-is because he failed the experiment, so you're no longer needed. Christ, what do you see in that psycho anyways?"

Shaking his head, Jackson dragged his struggling charge into the cafeteria.

Still looking up into his harsh features, the youthful voice dropped into a tense whisper. "You wouldn't understand. You're too much of a _freak_."

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, the bested agent roughly pulled the girl in front of him by her handcuffs. Gripping her thin left arm under the armpit, he shook her in the direction of the specials.

"Hey freaks. Great to see you all again. Everyone, meet –"

"MOLLY?" Mohinder and Matt couldn't contain themselves from leaping up from their seats.

"Oh good, you've all met. Play nice everyone." With that, Jackson unlocked the cuffs and shoved the young teen into the arms of her adoptive fathers.

Molly looked totally shell-shocked as Mohinder and Matt enveloped her into their arms. Claire took a moment to look over the teen as she stood totally still, not raising her arms to return the gesture.

Molly Walker had grown up. She was no longer the little girl Claire met at Kirby Plaza. She would be about fourteen, Claire reasoned, but still the former cheerleader couldn't reconcile the image of the round faced child from the past with the thin young woman of the present. Molly was taller than her; that was pretty common for Claire though. Her hair was now a medium brown rather than blond, although that could be because the poor girl looked like she hadn't had a shower (even with the all-purpose cleaner) in ages. The most striking change Claire noticed, with a heavy feeling in her gut, was the hardness in Molly's eyes. The youth looked like she had had maturity forcibly thrust upon her.

Molly was not focused on her dads, but instead looked around as though she was attempting to get her bearings.

"Wha- What is this place? What's everyone doing here?"

Matt furrowed his brow and put enough distance between him and Molly to place his hands on her narrow shoulders. He frowned as she flinched at the contact. "Molly, sweetheart, we've all been locked up in a facility for people with "dangerous" abilities or who the government thinks might be "special" terrorists. I know that's a lot to take in –"

"How long?" She cut him off sharply, shrugging out of his loose hold.

Matt cocked his head to the side. "How long will we be here? Well, I don't know. Not forever. We'll escape or –"

"No. How long have you been here?"

Matt and Mohinder exchanged a loaded expression, not sure what to tell the teen. Mohinder spoke carefully, "Not to discourage you Molly, but we've been here half a year."

Claire felt like an outsider to the estranged family before her. She wanted to reach out to Molly, who looked like she also felt lost, but didn't want to intrude.

Molly finally stopped scanning the room and met the eyes of Mohinder.

"Two months. I've been here two months. I had no idea…" She broke her gaze and fingered the hem of her baggy top. "We thought everyone else was being held in cells too."

Peter gestured to Mohinder and Matt to give Molly her space. "We? Who was with you Molly?"

Claire knew what they thought they had heard, but like Peter, she wasn't sure if they were right.

Molly looked up, fierce defiance shinning in her azure eyes.

"Gabe. Gabriel Gray. I know you guys knew him as Sylar, but he's not. Not anymore."

Peter smiled softly at the tense young woman. "I know. That's what I've been trying to tell everyone too."

Claire felt like she was missing something here. Didn't Sylar kill Molly's parents? And try to kidnap her? Shouldn't she be terrified of him?

Molly closed the small gap between her and Peter and reached up (but didn't have to reach too far up, Claire noticed – jeez little Molly _had_ grown) and gave him a slight squeeze.

Claire could just barely make out her whispered words in Peter's ear. "He knows you believe in him. It's part of what keeps him going."

She broke the hug and turned to level Claire with a meaningful expression.

Claire _really_ didn't want to hear what Molly might say next.

She didn't have to though, as Mohinder cautiously put an arm around Molly's shoulders and guided her towards the lunch table. The rest of the assorted specials outside their circle went back to their meals.

"Are you hungry? I'm sure you can have your pick of our lunches."

Claire smiled at Molly, attempting to appear friendly, "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Claire. And you can definitely have mine. Sorry I don't have anything more exciting to offer. You look like you're starving."

Molly looked at Claire gratefully. "Hi Claire, I couldn't forget you. Thanks, I'm really hungry." She hesitated before adding, "I'm not actually starving though."

Claire slid onto the bench beside Molly and pushed the brown lunch tray in front of her. No one else had missed the weight behind the younger girl's admission either.

The men all found seats as well. Peter laid both hands on the table in an open gesture. He spoke quietly and evenly, as one might to a frightened animal.

"Molly, do you think you can tell us what happened? I know it's hard, but if you can, we want to help you."

Claire watched Molly's tough guy mask slide a little. She tentatively reached out and gave the teen's small had a light squeeze. Molly offered her a slight smile in return.

"I can do that. It's the least I can do. I just, just –" Her bright blue eyes filled with moisture. She continued in a quieter voice.

"I just don't even know where to begin."

Claire ignored the prickling in her own eyes.

"My mom always used to say, 'The beginning is always a good place to start.'"

Molly nodded, her resolve sliding back into place.

"Okay. I don't really remember much about the kidnapping. I was sleeping and it was dark. So I guess my story starts after the plane ride, and after the van. I was dragged into this tall creepy building…"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Molly was terrified. She had been snatched out of her bed at Grandma Suresh's house and been tied up and gagged until only a few minutes ago. She had no idea what was going on, other than that she had taken a jet and then a van ride to get here. And that wasn't even the worst part.

The girl who could locate anyone in the world didn't know where she was.

Molly was too disoriented and frightened to try and harness her ability. She wasn't sure it would work on herself anyway.

She felt like she was caught in someone else's nightmare as she was quickly frisked, stripped, and redressed in gray scrubs a doctor with no personality might wear. Molly's small frame was jerked into the rough garments without any preamble. There was no time to indulge in mortification – that would come later – as she was hustled down the hall once more.

"Um, I – I –"

_Why can't I be brave like Matt, or smart like Mohinder? What would they do? Probably try to get some information and be strong._

"Who are you? Where am I?"

Questions asked in trembling, tiny voices of teenage girls probably didn't even register to these mission-driven guards. Molly was completely ignored.

Instead she looked around, straining her neck to try and get a sense of where they were. The flickering lights and stone walls didn't betray a location. Molly tried to keep it together though.

_Stone walls. Could be an old building? _

"Charlie four-oh-four. Yes, I'm reading you sir."

The squawk from the male guard's radio nearly gave Molly a heart attack. He raised the bulky walkie-talkie to his opposite ear.

"Affirmative, sir. Walker has arrived and been processed."

There was a beep followed by muffled chatter on the other end. Unfortunately, she could only her escort's side of the conversation.

"Yes sir. We are on route to 6655321's cell right now, sir."

More electronic feedback. The lights overhead began to flicker on and off with increasing rapidity. This was becoming more and more like the kind of low budget horror movies she would watch without Grandma's knowledge.

"Yes sir. Duly noted. We'll be there in five."

_6655321?_ Molly's heart leapt into her throat. She didn't wish imprisonment on any of her loved ones, but Mohinder had disappeared after a class almost four months ago. Contact with Matt had completely ceased not long after. _Maybe they're here too! _It would be a relief to know where they had vanished to. A small, slightly selfish voice in the back of her mind reminded the teen that at least if her adoptive fathers were being detained, she had a chance. _They always save the day._

"Roger that, sir. Over-and-out"

The trio quickly reached the end of the hallway. They stepped into a narrow elevator painted the most nauseating shade of green Molly had ever seen. She carefully noted that the female guard pressed the number four on the elevator panel, in case she needed that information for the future. The small cubicle lurched slightly before making its grinding ascent.

Much sooner than she would have liked, Molly found she was being shoved out of the elevator and into another white-washed corridor. _At least this one has better lighting. The flickering lights from before were really creepy. _

It was another long, silent walk until they reached a heavy brown door. The only thing distinguishing it from the others in the hallway was the heavy pad locks and chain through the door knob and up the side in addition to the apparently standard keypad. The old school security mechanism seemed oddly out of place with the newer technology.

Molly's male captor punched in a long serious of numbers and then removed a key ring full of tinkling brass from his breast pocket. The female guard looked impatient to get going. She nodded at the door.

"I really doubt 6655321 is going to make a break for it today. Didja see the lights downstairs? Why bother with the locks?"

The other black clad agent gave a long suffering sigh as though he suspected his companion of idiocy or incompetence.

"Extra precaution. We didn't expect it to try that other time either. Three months ago, the grid was down for three minutes and forty seconds. 6655321 might be crazy, but it's smart." He whistled through his teeth while unlinking the multiple locks. "Almost made in down to the blacktop, it did. That fast." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

The door swung open. Molly almost puked.

There was someone chained to the wall.

6655321 was a man. A man, who apparently was kept under lock and key, and coded security, yet was still manacled to a wall by the wrists and neck. Molly couldn't see the face, as man's nearly shaved head was ducked to his bare chest. Molly wanted to look away. Her eyes were drawn, however, to the lashes, bruises, and oozing cuts all over the emaciated figure's flesh. Worse, she could probably count every bone in the man's body through his almost translucent blue tinged skin.

"Three minutes and forty seconds. That's why we have the extra locks, Marks. You can't trust these freaks."

Molly was shoved into the cell. The figure groaned softly and raised his head. Dark eyes still filled with life, despite his physical appearance glared accusingly at the guards in the doorway.

"Three minutes and thirty-eight seconds." He coughed weakly, "The extra two might have made the dif-difference."

Molly barely registered the door swinging shut behind her captors. She knew those eyes. She finally found her voice and began to shriek in terror. Molly was trapped with the monster that killed her parents and still haunted her nightmares.

_THE BOOGYMAN!_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	7. Secrets Part One

A/N: Please enjoy chapter seven: Secrets, Part One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

I need another story  
Something to get off my chest  
My life gets kinda boring  
Need something that I can confess  
'Til all my sleeves are stained red…

~ "Secrets" by One Republic

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Aahhhhhhieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" It was debatable whether Molly's shriek could have possibly been more shill or more ear-piercing. She didn't care. The teen was too busy pounding both fists on the locked door to notice. When that didn't have any effect, she added kicking to her flailing fists.

"Let-me-out-oh-god-oh-god-oh-shiva-he's-here-don't-leave-me-with-him!"

No one was coming to her rescue this time. She was utterly trapped. Eventually, the young woman ran out of energy and allowed her exhausted body, bruised fists and all, to fall to the floor. She lay there in a heap, panting; any moment, any breath could be her last. She was going to die here alone by the powers of the psychotic killer who had slaughtered her parents only a few years before.

"Hi."

That wasn't what Molly was expecting.

She didn't want to look into those dark eyes again. Instead, Molly opted to curl into herself further. Her quiet panting was the only response her nightmare received.

The sound of a scratchy esophagus swallowing dry air was pretty hard to ignore. Molly tried anyways.

"Hello." _Oh wow. His voice sounds like what my throat feels like. Didn't he used to sound a lot more menacing?_

Molly wasn't going to fall for whatever trap this was. No way.

"Um. Hola? Bonjour? Do you speak English? ¿Habla Inglés, Señorita? Parlez-vous Anglais, Mademoiselle?"

That was just too much.

"Yes I speak English!" Molly's voice sounded hysterical even to her own ears. She quickly slapped a sweat-slicked hand over her mouth. What was it Grandma Suresh was always saying these days? Oh yeah, "Just because you are growing older, Molly, does not mean that you should not think before speaking." Oops.

"Good. _Cough. _It's nice to meet you. I'm-" His introduction dissolved into a violent hacking. Molly pretended not to notice through the small gap between her forearms as he spit a small wad of mucus onto the concrete.

"I…I know who you are." Molly ventured in a timid voice. She didn't care if the boogeyman could hear her or not over the muffling embrace she had wrapped herself in. Actually, lips pressed against her knees, arms firmly wrapped around her forehead – _Oh GOD, what he does to the foreheads – _she hoped he couldn't hear her.

"Sorry, I didn't really catch that?" His voice was nearly as quiet and uncertain as hers. And why did everything he said sound like a question?

"Sylar," she breathed out in a nearly silent whisper.

"Um, what? Could you, uh, repeat that?"

This nice guy routine was starting to make Molly angry. How dare he act so polite after the awful crimes he committed?

"Sylar."

Molly's grip on herself began to loosen a little.

"Sorry?"

Her fists tightened.

"Sylar! And you should be sorry, you killed my parents, you murdering bastard!" Molly completely uncurled herself to leap to her feet, if a little unsteadily on limbs still sore from kicking the door.

"You somehow tricked them into letting you in, and you killed them! Then you tried to kidnap me later! I watched you egg Peter on until he blew up. I thought you were dead, then there you were, at the breakfast table trying to kill us all again!"

The small quirk in the corner of Sylar's lip wasn't helping things. Molly was telling the truth. She felt like when she was upset about something and Mohinder found amusement in her "theatrics." The reminder of Mohinder only made her angrier.

"I saw you shoot that lady in Mohinder's lab. Even though Mohinder brought her back to life, he was still scared of what could happen. He sent me away you know, after that. To keep me safe, he said. I had to leave my home with Matt and Mohinder, my only family, to start all over in a strange country."

Molly remained standing, although her energy was spent. Her body quivered all over from adrenalin, exhaustion, and anger. Neither of the prisoners said anything as Molly's ragged gasps regulated into a more normal breathing pattern.

Finally, her chained villain spoke.

"Molly Walker," He whispered.

"Yeah. That's me. Mohinder adopted me officially though, so now it's Molly Walker – Suresh."

He continued more to himself than to her, "I didn't recognize…grown up in the past couple years…of all people. God."

Molly stood there uncertain of what to say. This wasn't how their reunion encounter played out in her admittedly less frequent nightmares. If this were a dream…she'd be dead.

"I know this probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, but I'm sorry. I really, truly am."

She mustn't have heard that right.

"What?"

Maybe the sleeping drugs from the plane had messed with her head.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I screwed up your life, the fear I've caused you, and for ever going near your family – new or old."

The weirdest thing about the apology was that it actually seemed _sincere._ Molly was an excellent bullshit-detector, and everything he said rang true.

"Say it again."

He furrowed those distinctive brows. "I'm…sorry?"

A small part of Molly was almost disappointed to see nothing but honesty and abashment in those wide, pleading eyes.

Weird.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"And?" Claire couldn't stand the heavy silence that settled over the table after Molly described her reintroduction to Sylar. Hiro nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"And Molly doesn't have to say anything else unless she feels ready," Mohinder chastised Claire gently.

Molly scrunched her nose in irritation. "I'm a big girl, Mohinder. And I want to talk I really do." A nostalgic smile flitted across her face, but was gone before Claire could discern its meaning. Molly raised her fork to point over her father's shoulder. "People are leaving."

Claire smiled sardonically. "It's recreation hour for us. That means time to sit around and play cards or do a crossword. That kind of thing. Basically as long as we're all quiet and behave, we can do whatever we want." _Well, except that what I want is to get out of this hellhole. _

She tried to smile a little more sincerely for Molly's sake.

The group hustled out and made their escorted way into the common room. Claire took her regular seat in the corner of the couch. She was glad that at least for today, she wouldn't be working her way through the third volume of crosswords.

Everyone found a seat around Molly, who was perched on the edge of the middle couch cushion. Peter had the good sense to sign out a deck of cards for appearance's sake.

Molly cleared her throat and resumed her story in hushed tones. Someone else's familiar smirk tugged at the corners of her chapped lips. "Well, I still wasn't exactly thrilled with my new roommate…"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Molly sat as far away as she could from Sylar. _The Boogeyman_, a small voice from childhood terrors reminded her.

The bare bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling had abruptly blinked out shortly after the reunion between victim and predator. Molly was sort of relieved. She had hustled herself off to a brick corner after her new roommate unhelpfully explained that "lights out" was their cue to catch some sleep. Molly hadn't responded. She didn't want to dignify an answer to his apology either. The teen wanted to think that over first.

So here she was.

She was huddled in the corner of a strange room with an even stranger man. Molly rested her tired head against the cool stones behind her. She had never tried sleeping sitting up before. Given with who she was stuck with, Molly didn't want to give in to slumber at all, actually.

Despite her best efforts, her eyes eventually closed of their own volition.

A snore from across the small room brought Molly out of her reverie.

Apparently, evil incarnate had no problem falling asleep.

The disgruntled fourteen-year-old didn't know how he could be so fast asleep given the uncomfortable position he was in. She peeked around a large metal table in the middle of the floor to try and discern his shape in the darkness.

Molly could just barely make out Sylar's huddled form in the shadows. He was half laying / half crouching with his chest flat to the floor. Although, they didn't stretch far, the iron chains encircling his wrists allowed the villain to cross his arms and tuck his hands under his armpits. _For warmth?_ She had learned about the human body's hotspots in a first aid class Mohinder insisted she take. She tightened her own slender arms around her knees. It _was_ uncomfortably chilly, she had to admit. Sylar was also bent at the waist; his long legs folded Indian-style and pulled close to his body.

He looked like a lanky pretzel. Molly didn't know how he could sleep in such a contortion.

Since it didn't look like her brain would be eaten any time soon, Molly thought she might scope out the rest of the cell.

It wasn't exactly a _tiny_ room, but there wasn't much room to wander around either. A sturdy metal slab that looked like it might be more at home in an operating room took up a fair bit of space in the centre. There was enough space to walk the whole way around the six foot long table. That just left room for Sylar tethered to his wall and Molly to sit against hers.

She sighed.

This was lame. Really lame.

Molly continued to watch her tormentor. She couldn't really see much other than his outline and the rise and fall of his chest. Molly tensed at the sound of rattling chains.

He breathed his own soft sigh and shifted slightly.

She exhaled slowly.

This was going to be a long night.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_Molly ran and ran and ran._

_She was being chased. _

_She was trapped in the never-ending corridor outside her cell. As she ran, the lights began to flicker before dying completely. The emergency back-up lighting stuttered to life hesitantly. _

_Molly was now bathed in blood-red luminescence as she pulled on the handles of the doors lining both sides of the hallway. None of them would open. She was locked in with no way out. As she began to whimper in fear, soft laughter wound its way around her. She was choking in its mocking embrace. _

_So she ran. _

_Molly finally reached the end of the hallway. One last door beckoned her forward. It was unlocked; she turned the handle with trepidation, uncertain what would be on the other side. _

_Scrunching her eyes shut, she swung the door open. _

_It was her cell. _

_Instead of housing Sylar, however, her parents were the only residents. They were leaning against the wall where he would have been chained. Molly rushed forward._

"_Mom? Dad? We've gotta get out of here! Come on!"_

_Why weren't they moving?_

"_Mommy? Daddy?"_

_Molly knelt down in front of them. _

_Her parents were propped up against the gray bricks. Mr. and Mrs. Walker were suspended by almost invisible fishing line like a pair of grotesque marionettes. Frozen grins and vacant eyes belied their postmortem state. Molly backed away slowly._

"_No. No. No. No. No. No. No." This couldn't be right. Why were they like this? As she got about a foot away, a thin red line cracked across both of their skulls. Black blood began to seep across the faces she had missed so dearly. _

_So she ran. _

_But as she made it out of the cell of horrors, previously barred doors began to fling open around her. Matt Parkman fell out of the nearest one into a heap on the floor. His lifeless eyes bore into hers before disappearing underneath rivulets of red from his own exposed brain cavity. _

_Molly turned away, only to have Mohinder collapse on her bare feet. He was in a similar state. _

_The heavy doors simultaneously creaked open to reveal the bleeding corpses of her friends and family. Molly found herself in a sea of bodies in varying states of decay: Matt; Mohinder; Mira; Grandma Suresh; her school friends, Aastha and Isha; her teachers; those she knew with abilities, Micah, his parents, the Japanese men, the cheerleader – Claire, and her cute uncle Peter. _

"_Molly."_

"_Molly."_

"_Molly, please help us"_

_Molly whirled around. Her parents were staggering out of the cell. The laughter was beginning to ring louder in the cramped space._

_Out of the pile of the deceased rose the boogeyman of her nightmares. _

_Clad in the all black outfit he wore for the showdown at Kirby Plaza, Sylar struck an imposing figure. Lips barred in a menacing grimace, he started towards her. Molly couldn't strike a path through the dead; there was nowhere to run or hide. _

_When he had almost reached her, Sylar began to convulse. His image rippled. Suddenly, the thinner, half-clad figure she met earlier in the evening replaced his evil counterpart. A red line began to creep its way over his heavy brows. His face crumpled in agony. He stretched out a pale arm to her and began to wail._

"_Molly, please help me!"_

"_Molly!"_

"_Molly!" _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Molly! Come on Molly, wake up."

Molly gasped back to reality.

"Molly, it's okay. Just take deep, slow breaths. You're safe now."

"Safe?" Molly managed to spit out in between attempting to regular her erratic heart rate and oxygen intake. "How could I ever be safe with you here?" Her voice sounded cracked and overused.

A wet cough was swallowed by silence.

Then, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Molly choked back a sob, "No!"

An uncomfortable quiet fell over the pair once more.

Molly looked down, even though he probably couldn't see her in the dark. "I," she took a deep breath and continued in a barely audible register, "I don't want to fall asleep again though either."

She was greeted with a longer silence this time. Molly begrudgingly had to admit that she hoped the lack of response was due to deep contemplation on Sylar's part other than the possibility that he went back to sleep.

Eventually, a throat cleared uncertainly.

"Do you want me to keep you awake then? How about this: you can ask me whatever you want and I will answer as truthfully as I can."

"Anything?"

"Go for it Molly. I owe you so much more than that."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

The honesty in his tired voice was unsettling. Molly had to stay tough if she was going to get answers to the questions that had plagued her mind for years.

"How many people have you killed?"

She was greeted with mirthless laughter. "You don't waste time, do you? Ummmm. Twenty-two specials, including Claire Bennet, who regenerates. So, twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two. That's everyone?"

"No. Bystanders, witnesses, and agents too. Add them and the real number is probably close to fifty, maybe higher."

Molly felt sick.

"Why does Mohinder hate you?"

"I killed his father." _Well, that was short and to the point._ And not what she wanted to know.

"I know. But besides that; is there something else?"

The rustling of clinking metal was her only answer.

"Sylar?"

"I…don't really want to talk about it."

"You promised."

"I did, didn't I? His father and I were friends, sort of. The elder Dr. Suresh found me at my dead end job and gave me hope. I didn't know I had an ability, or what that even meant. He…opened my eyes to the possibility. Then he said I was _normal_."

Molly could detect a faint trace of disgust hidden in the man's otherwise even tone.

"To make a long story short, I eventually figured out, however not a hundred percent correctly, that I had the 'gift'," he snorted, "to take abilities from others. I used Chandra's list to do it. He found out and rejected me. It was like losing a parent all over again. I killed him in his taxi. That's why Mohinder flew to New York. I imagine that Mohinder's still angry that I continued to use his father's research to find other specials. Probably more so that I used it to impersonate a confused musician who needed the good doctor's help. As Zane Taylor, Mohinder and I tracked down other specials when I lost the list. I cultivated a pretend friendship with him and exploited it. He probably felt betrayed."

That wasn't what Molly expected. She filed away the connection she never knew existed for later examination.

"That's how you found my family? Off a list Mohinder's dad made?

"Yes."

"How did you get into my house?"

"Your parents let me in. I posed as a college student whose car had run out of gas and needed to call a friend. There was a UCLA alumni bumper sticker on the sedan in the driveway, so I was hoping for some understanding. I guess your Dad was a sympathetic guy and believed my story that I had been out all night and needed to get back to campus for morning classes. I think…that was what I said. Your mom said I could stay for breakfast too. I'm so sorry Molly."

"Shut up. What happened next?"

"I told them I was a grad student doing research in genetics. I had to find out if James Walker actually had any abilities."

"Did he?"

There was a pause on the other side of the cell. Her boogeyman gently asked, "You didn't know?"

Molly couldn't let him break her.

"I'm asking the questions. Did my father have an ability?"

"Yes. Freezing."

"How did you do it? How did you _kill_ them?" Molly allowed the venom in her voice cover her trembling.

"After your dad froze a glass of milk your mom left to get coffee. I…did my thing."

"You cut his head in half? Across his forehead?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And I don't think you really want to know all this Molly!"

His outburst startled her. Did he actually…care?

Molly glared across the cell hoping her angry stare could somehow hurt him.

"And you promised you'd be totally honest. So, what happened next?"

A sigh.

"I killed him. Took his ability. Tried it out. Your mom came in and screamed." Sylar's words came out rushed and clipped, as though his confession was painful for him as well.

Molly sucked in a mouthful of the cool air. "I heard her…I was getting dressed for school and I heard her. I hid. I didn't even try to do anything to help."

"You couldn't have done anything. It was over too quickly. She didn't have a chance."

"Mom didn't have a special power?"

"No."

Molly tightened her arms around herself. She was cold and wanted a hug.

"Molly, I'm sorry. I know it doesn't mean anything to you, but I am. I know how you feel. I'm so sorry."

"Me too."

Neither of the new cellmates spoke for the rest of the night.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Someone was…throwing up?

Molly blinked, trying to clear her eyes.

She had the worst dream the night before. It was much worse than anything she had ever experienced –

_Oh. _

She rubbed her sore neck. The crick in her muscles was definitely real alright.

So was everything else.

Molly swallowed the bile in her throat that accompanied her fresh memories of the confessions from the night before. Speaking of which…

"Good morning."

Molly shook her head.

"Were you just, ummm?" She tried not to sound concerned.

"No, not really. Just some dry heaves." His nonchalance was a little disturbing this early in the morning.

They fell silent once more.

Molly was…confused. She was also angry, scared, tired and stiff, but most of all, she was perplexed. Although she had heard some terrible things the night before she couldn't help but be the tiniest bit glad that Sylar had been honest with her. The young child in her had every reason to hate him, want to kill him, and make him suffer. Yet…the young woman she was becoming wanted to know more. She loved the adults in her life, but didn't love that they still thought of her as a child. There was also something…different about the boogeyman. He had been calm, patient, and even _understanding._ Those weren't exactly the qualities one expects in a villain. Her good natured soul whispered that there was a story she hadn't heard. She'd have to operate under the assumption that he was faking for now, and question him later.

Molly stood up and cringed. Sleeping sitting up against a brick wall was not something she wanted to experience any time soon again. The young woman stretched her back as she walked purposefully towards her tormentor.

She stopped a safe two feet away.

To say her boogeyman looked a little worse for wear would be an understatement. Like she had glimpsed the night before, he was far skinnier than the last time she saw him, and unhealthily so at that. Before Sylar had been just very lean; now he looked painfully malnourished. Each rib of his bare chest protruded prominently from its discolored planes. The bruises adorning just about every available surface of his body were a mix of greens, blues, purples, and angry looking reds. They were of various sizes and shapes, and Molly would guess each was more painful than the last. The manacles around both wrists and his neck were undoubtedly a source of extreme discomfort as well as confinement if the welts and raw skin were any indication. Molly didn't even want to imagine how sore the chaffing of the iron would be. Cuts and scrapes were there as well. Nothing looked like it had been treated except for some injuries to his hands. However, even the gauze concealing his palms and fingers was tinged a light red.

Molly opened and closed her mouth.

"So…what's that?" The gestured to the IV taped to her cellmate's elbow. He didn't have that last night, as far as she knew.

"Breakfast. Delicious saline with just a hint of the essential nutrients needed to keep the human body from completely shutting down. They came in while you were still sleeping. I think there's some porridge for you in the corner over there.

Well then.

"So, no socks in this joint?" Molly thought she managed to sound tough, given the circumstances.

Molly bit her lip at the half laugh, half choking sound that erupted from Sylar.

"Apparently not, Molly. I haven't been given mine yet."

Molly examined her bare toes and tried not to smile.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N#2: Thanks for your previous comments. Your thoughts are very welcome. :)


	8. Secrets, Part Two

***WARNING! This chapter is rated M for reference to violence, rape, and brief use of vulgar language. If you still want to follow this fic, but skip this chapter, PM me from my profile and I'll fill you in.***

Please enjoy chapter 8: Secrets, Part two

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks to all who commented. It's awesome to know when someone is reading and enjoying your work. As always, your thoughts are welcome. :)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

…From all the truth that I've said  
Come by it honestly I swear  
Thought you saw me wink, no  
I've been on the brink, so

Tell me what you want to hear  
Something that will light those ears  
Sick of all the insincerities  
I'm gonna give all my secrets away

~ "Secrets" by One Republic

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"So."

Molly examined the white wall. If you looked hard enough, it wasn't really white.

"Yeah Molly?"

No, it was definitely _not_ white.

"What now?"

More of an off white. Cream? No. Spoilt milk? Maybe. Don't look at him.

"Us or…this?"

Molly stretched her back against the metal table. She set her bowl of gray sludge to the side. The steel bowl clinked against the table. She stared at the blank wall. The alternative was Sylar. No, it was definitely better to face the wall. Molly couldn't believe she had actually just made a joke about _socks_.

"Molly?"

She must be losing it. It was time to toughen up again until she figured out what was going on.

"Huh?"

"Molly, I think you just asked me a question? 'What now?' I asked for some clarification?"

His even tone was probably meant to be soothing, but it kind of just grated on Molly's nerves.

"This. What is this? Where are we? Why are we here?"

A sigh.

"This. This is a prison, a torture chamber, and home. An old psychiatric facility called Blackburn. I'm not really sure where 'here' is geographically. I'm here for experimentation and punishment." He paused. Molly almost turned around.

"I don't know why you're here with me. You should be with the others."

That got her attention.

"The others? Who else is here? Do you ever see them?"

She leapt to her feet. Now she was getting somewhere!

"Peter, Claire, the usual band of heroes-." "Mohinder, Matt, Micah?" "Yes, no, and no, as far as I know. I haven't seen anyone in four months."

Moll's excitement died a little. It didn't bode well that she was _here_ instead of _there_.

"Well," Her next question was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock. Molly watched as the boogeyman's face closed into a determined expression. His whole body visibly tensed.

These were two different guards than the night before. Any courage she might have felt drained at the sight of their leering expressions.

"Morning, Gabri_elle._ Ooops, sorry. I meant 6655321."

Molly thought she'd just watch for now. The speaking agent was blocking her view of Sylar as he stood facing the captive, hands on hips and legs evenly spaced apart. He meant business and obviously enjoyed his job.

"Good morning, Agent Jack_ass_. Ooops, sorry I meant Agent Jackson," Molly could hear the derision even in his quiet tone, "No, take that back. Actually I _did_ mean Jackass."

She suppressed a snicker.

The other guard continued his task of tightening restraints around Sylar's forearms before unlocking the manacles from the wall. Finally, he yanked the injured man to his feet. Molly could now see both agent and captive as they stood in profile before her. Both men were engaged in a hate-filled staring contest that didn't seem like it was going to end anytime soon.

Jackson broke first. He slapped Sylar lightly across the cheek.

"That's all for now. Dr. F. will be pissy if you pass out too early in testing, and Henderson will whine if you're not pretty. We'll have some fun after though; we both know that's okay."

Molly creased her forehead. This wasn't like any kind of prison she had heard of before. It sounded like it was okay for guards to hurt inmates and maybe that it was even encouraged. Weird.

Without further ado, the trio ambled out the door. Molly's last glimpse of the boogeyman was of him barely regaining his balance after a particularly hard shove from Agent Jackson. After he stood up, he briefly made eye contact with her before looking forward again.

It was like the agents hadn't even seen her. She might even thank Sylar for the cover by his distraction later.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Oh my Gods, what happened to you?"

Molly belatedly realized she had said that aloud. She hadn't expected Sylar to be returned to their cell on a gurney. She also noted that their captors still weren't taking any chances; he was still cuffed to the railings despite appearing unconscious. The two agents, the same ones as before, dumped Sylar onto the floor and went through the process of re-chaining his wrists and neck to the wall. A short man in a white lab coat stood by and watched pensively.

Finished their duty, the agents saluted to the doctor; the one called Jackson did it rather mockingly. He took the lead and motioned to his companion to take the gurney. They closed and locked the door behind them.

"Hello there."

_Oh! He's talking to me!_ Molly wasn't sure how to answer. Obviously this guy was evil if he was working in a place like this.

Molly didn't say anything.

"That's okay dear. I'm just going to patch up your friend a bit then I'll be on my way."

Molly couldn't let that one go. "He's not my friend," She timidly whispered.

"Okay. Well, I'll still go in a minute."

The man's gentle tone was really out of place in the cell. Despite her reservations, Molly watched as the doctor removed a roll of gauze, a small pair of scissors, and a roll of tape from his pockets. He proceeded to bandage Sylar's hands. Molly found that strange, since he made no move to try and fix any of the other injuries.

Finished his ministrations, the mystery doctor extracted a syringe from another pocket of his coat. He tenderly pulled down the top of Sylar's scrub bottoms and injected the liquid into a mostly bruise free area on his thigh. Molly could still make out a quiet moan over the doctor's creaking knees as he stood up.

Molly's blue orbs followed the doctor to the door. He waved a latex gloved hand and softly knocked a complicated pattern. The door swung open and Molly just glimpsed Jackson shaking his head at his superior.

Nothing made sense here.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Does it hurt?"

"Not really."

Molly _knew_ that had to be a lie.

"You said you'd be honest with me. Does it hurt?"

"I can handle it!" That wasn't the answer Molly was really going for, but she wasn't going to argue with that annoyed tone. She also wanted to talk, so pissing off her cellmate and getting ignored wasn't the plan. She had waited like two hours for him to wake up. She squared her shoulders and spit out her question as fast as she could.

"What do brains taste like?"

She _had_ to ask. It had been bothering her since he left for testing or whatever.

"Uhhh, what?" He was still a little groggy then.

"You know, when you kill someone for their power and eat their brain? What's it taste like? I bet it's really gross."

That almost sounded like a giggle. Molly hoped it was a cough instead.

"First, I'm not killing people anymore. I haven't in ages. You can ask Peter Petrelli if you ever see him. Secondly, I never ate brains. That's not a part of it. What is it with you teenage girls thinking that? Ewww. Claire thought the same thing."

_Oh. _Molly thought that was a reasonable question, but now she felt silly. She pondered over her next question for a few minutes.

"Sylar?"

All she got in response was a snore.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Did you have a question dear?"

Molly was somewhat surprised that the question was directed to her. She and the mysteriously okay doctor had fallen into a routine over the past week and a half (at least, she thought it might have been a week and a half). Twice a day, (early?) morning and (late?) afternoon Sylar was taken to "testing" (whatever that meant). Between an hour and two later, he would return, either deeply unconscious or writhing in a delirium of pain. The tall doctor with the square jaw would accompany the two agents and Sylar back. He would clean only the wounds to Sylar's hands (that Molly hadn't gotten a good look at yet) and would leave. Dr. Henderson, as he had introduced himself, would briefly attempt to engage Molly in conversation, and would return to silence when she resisted any form of communication with him.

Today however, curiosity had gotten the better of her and Molly was (discreetly, she thought) attempting to get a better look at what he was doing to her cellmate from the other side of the room.

Apparently, she wasn't that subtle at all. The doctor was staring back.

"Oh, um," she began quietly, "I was um, wondering what you were doing?"

He gestured at her to come nearer. "You can watch dear, if you don't have a fickle stomach."

Molly shuffled over. Today was one of the days when Sylar was returned to their cell totally dead to the world. "_So it's not like he'll know,"_ she reasoned internally.

She watched as the doctor assembled his regular materials onto a sterile cloth placed over the tile.

"Why do you fix his hands but not anything else?"

It had been nagging at Molly every time she saw a new agent-inflicted bruise or cut that went untreated.

Dr. Henderson exhaled as he turned a limp palm toward him. "Well, there's a complicated answer to your question, but I can't really tell you everything. Here's the simple answer: 6655321's," he rolled his eyes at the numerical moniker, "hands get hurt in testing every day. The other injuries are a way to determine if his abilities are working or not, due to his power of regeneration. He looks bad, but the Bennet ability is actually working, very slowly though, mind you. His palms, on the other hand," he chuckled unenthusiastically, "just get progressively more painful each time, so they're not a reliable measurement. The lead research scientist, Flanagan, surprisingly gave the go-ahead to apply basic first aid."

Molly could see said palms. The flesh was heavily charred and oozing blood and ash. She looked away.

"What causes…that?"

He looked up at her from under his crooked glasses sympathetically. "I'm sorry Molly, but I'm not allowed to discuss classified procedures with you."

"Oh. I understand. Why do _you_ always stick around to do something about it?"

Pursing his lips as he wound several layers of gauze tightly around Sylar's hand and forearm, he explained, "Well, unlike the majority of the staff, I do believe that evolved humans are still people. That's all I can say though, sorry."

Molly nodded, "I appreciate it. Thank you for your honesty. Will I meet this Dr. Flanagan?"

The doctor grimaced. "For your sake, you better hope not, Molly.

He packed up his belongings and was at the door before Molly tore her eyes away from her sleeping cellmate.

"Wait! Can you tell me why I'm here?"

Shaking his head, Dr. Henderson smiled sadly at her. "Classified. Sorry, dear."

Lost in her thoughts, Molly didn't notice his exit.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

Having now seen the injuries up close, Molly recognized the understatement. She wasn't going to question it right now though.

"What do you think of Henderson?"

It was night, several hours after the last testing. Molly had stayed awake by pacing the cell and pinching herself. Finally, Sylar had woken up.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he looked at Molly suspiciously. "How did you meet? I thought you were safe from experimentation?"

Molly inched forward on her knees.

"I am, for now. He always comes in and patches you up after…you're gone?"

Sylar closed his eyes and nodded in understanding. "Yeah, that's right. He's the representative from the infirmary ward sent to make sure I'm not killed. Or if I do die, he can bring me back with the 'Magic Blood.' That's rare though, because they think infusing me with my own 'power charged blood' will somehow give me back all my abilities. I overheard some of the coats talking about a synthesized watered down version in the works." He trailed off.

"Sorry Molly, you were asking? I'm a little out of it after this afternoon." He shifted slightly, wincing in pain.

"Henderson. Can he be trusted?"

Sylar mulled that over for a few minutes.

"Well, as much as we can trust anyone here, I guess. He _is_ a step up though from the mad scientists running the place and their goons."

That was basically what Molly was thinking too.

She rose from the floor to leave for her wall. She turned and whispered, "Goodnight. Feel better."

"I thought you hated me," was the flat reply.

"I do."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_Where is the Boogeyman? Where's Sylar?_

This was the only way she could know for certain. Nearly three weeks had passed in this Hell, and the clairvoyant teen was tired of the tug-of-war of her emotions. _Is he a villain? Or has he really changed?_ _Can I trust him?_ Molly had to know once and for all.

She allowed her conscious to separate from her body. Molly focused on what was familiar about her villain: terror, evil, violence. She felt the familiar floating feeling she always got while searching for someone. Molly hadn't tried using it for serious reasons in a long time. Mostly, she's just sneak peeks at familiar faces: Matt, on the other side of the world; Mohinder, when he was late for dinner; sometimes even Micah, not that she'd ever admit it. On a really bad day, she'd look for her parents. Those days, few and far between, all she got was a blank, foggy _nothing._

Molly gasped aloud. Instead of showing her the sleeping villain across the cell from her, she got the fog. Well, not quite the mist of the deceased, but pretty close. All she got for thinking _Boogeyman _was a hazy, undefined shape. She tried again: _Sylar. _Nope. All Molly could see was a heavily impaired vision of their cell, but the figure, while in the same restrained position, was a nearly indistinguishable shadow.

Biting her lip, Molly opened her eyes. Maybe her ability just wasn't working. Maybe she had been drugged too.

_Grandma Suresh_

The clairvoyant teen was rewarded with a clear glimpse of her adopted grandmother bustling around the house. She stopped at a framed photograph of Molly from last year's dance recital. The elder Suresh shook her head as she gazed longingly into the frozen memory.

"What are you doing? Stop it!" Molly opened her eyes with a start. That whispered hiss had definitely come from her glaring cellmate.

"I-I was just thinking. Is that a crime?" Molly wasn't really sure how to talk to the man now that she had new information.

"No, but doing _that_ could be."

"What, using my-"

A loud, very forced cough drowned out her next word. Once it died down after turning into real hacking, she was treated to the narrowed eye stare again.

"Yes. Cut it out. Don't kid yourself for a second by thinking we're not being watched."

Molly felt a little foolish now; she hadn't even thought of that.

"Oh."

She was glad he couldn't see her blush in the black.

"It's fine. You didn't know. Just be more careful – I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

Molly was reminded that she couldn't actually find the Boogeyman when she tried. There was something there, but not concrete. _He's really not Sylar anymore. It's still a part of him, but he's actually changed. He's almost a different person. _

"How could you tell that…I wasn't just thinking about things?" Molly was curious now, not defiant.

"It's part of my core ability. I see how things work. Everything, in fact. I could tell." He didn't sound smug, just tired.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Molly had to do it before she lost her nerve. Deep down, she knew it was right. She took a deep breath and marched the short distance across the cell. Sticking out her right hand, she announced in a slightly shaking voice:

"I'm Molly. Nice to meet you."

She was met with a skeptically raised eyebrow.

"I…looked for Sylar. He's not here."

Molly felt the corners of her mouth lift at the shy, wondering smile on the captive's face. He clasped her smaller hand in his own and gently squeezed.

"Gabriel. It's my pleasure."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"What was your favorite subject when you were in school?"

Molly was making an effort to get to know Gabriel now that she was sure he wasn't as evil as he once was. With nothing to do either than sleep, sit, or occasionally eat, Molly had taken to quizzing her cellmate about his life, philosophy, the future – really just anything that came to mind. He had already filled her in on the nightmare city with Peter, so she moved to more basic things.

"Math. I liked figuring out the problems and putting the equations together. "You?"

Molly had to think about that. "Hmmm. Maybe art? Or gym?"

"Neat. Do you think maybe you'll be the next Picasso or Shawn Johnson when you grow up?" Molly was getting good at telling when he was teasing her. She smacked his arm lightly.

"No. I think maybe I'd like to be a detective. I could find missing people. Well, missing people that are still alive."

Gabriel looked at her with something akin to pride. "That's very noble, Molly."

Molly inwardly glowed. She gave her cellmate a sincere smile. Coming from him, it was more than a throwaway compliment. The teen had really come to respect Gabriel Gray. Every day, the agents would come and berate and sometimes beat him. He never showed weakness. Moreover, whenever they would leer her way or make a lewd comment, he would always manage to get the attention away from her by mouthing off or fighting back. Molly _really_ appreciated it.

"Thanks Gabe. What about you? What did you want to be when you were my age?"

"How old are you again, ten?" She gave him a withering look.

"Okay. When I was around fourteen, I still wasn't sure what I wanted to be. I thought of the regular careers – doctor, lawyer, and teacher – but nothing seemed to fit. I felt like I had this _potential_ but I wasn't sure what it was for."

"So what did you do," Molly asked softly.

"I became a watchmaker, like my father. It wasn't what I wanted, but I was good at it. It made sense at the time. With just my mother and me at home, I couldn't afford to go to college and here was something for which I had an aptitude. Even if I had applied for scholarships or loans, I still probably wouldn't have gone. There were too many excuses not to: someone had to look after mother as she got increasingly more withdrawn, I could fail, I didn't know what I wanted out of life… You get the idea."

Molly rested her hand on Gabriel's knee. "It's okay Gabe. When we get out of here, you can start again. You're gonna live forever anyways, so you can try out a bunch of different careers!"

They smiled grimly at each other, both sharing the same thought, "_If we get out of here…"_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Molly?"

"Molly?"

"Molly!"

Molly's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"You were, uh, crying in your sleep," Gabriel whispered sheepishly, "I thought maybe you were having a nightmare."

She had been in fact. But now she couldn't stop crying even though she was awake. She needed to distract herself from bad thoughts.

"Did I wake you up?"

Molly walked over and sat cross-legged in front of her cellmate. Well, actually now he was more of a friend.

"No, I was just chatting with Peter."

Molly looked away. She knew for a fact that Peter Petrelli was not in the cell with them. Sometimes Gabriel was a little delusional. Molly chalked it up to the amount of drugs in his system and the pain he was in. If a little hallucination kept him from going completely insane, who was she to argue?

"Sorry to interrupt." She winced. That didn't come across as genuinely as she meant. "Sorry, Gabriel, I didn't mean -"

"That's okay Molly. I know what you meant. Do you want to talk about it, the nightmare?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "No. It was just the usual." The usual being her dead parents, corpses, and the endless hallway of this hellhole. She mumbled, "I just kind of want a hug."

"What? Sorry, I couldn't make that out."

Molly looked at the ceiling. Water stains and mold. Gross.

"I said I want a hug."

"Oh. Well, that's easy enough, come here."

Molly cautiously scooted forward. She felt his thin arms wrap around her. The former watchmaker wasn't her scientist dad, but he was a pretty good substitute.

The two captives laid innocently together, gathering comfort and warmth where they could.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire looked around at the assembled specials. Everyone appeared to be deep in thought. Molly's story had taken up the entire afternoon recreation period, supper hour, and after dinner charades.

"So you really believe with all your heart that Gabriel Gray is no longer Sylar?"

Mohinder's question seemed fair to Claire. She wasn't sure if his heavily implied skepticism was as well placed.

"I do."

"And you would place all your trust in the former villain?"

Hiro's query seemed reasonable as well.

"I do."

Matt shook his head. "I still can't believe that the creep could just turn over a new leaf like that. The idea of him touching you makes my skin crawl."

Molly and Peter both glared at the detective.

"Well, right now I just want to go to bed. You'll have to take my word, 'cuz I'm not saying anything else till tomorrow." She motioned to Claire, "I hear we're roommates?"

Claire hadn't, but she really didn't care.

"Sure. Let's go."

Once the two girls had changed into the official nightwear (a shapeless, floor length gray-stripped nightgown) and tucked into bed, Molly spoke again.

"Claire, there's more."

"Do you want to wait until everyone's together tomorrow?"

"No. It's private stuff. But you're a girl, and you seem okay – not judgmental like the guys. Well, except Peter, he's okay too. I'll give everyone else an edited version. Anyways…"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Who's Elle?"

The arms around Molly tightened. They had started sleeping cuddled together since that night three weeks before.

"Where did you hear that name?" Gabriel hadn't sounded that scary since he was, well, Sylar.

"From you. The other day when you came back from testing, you were um," screaming her name? Completely hysterical? Needed to be sedated before Henderson could get anywhere near you? "-A little out of it. You said her name several times."

"Oh." He rolled Molly towards him so that they were facing. His voice was incredibly quiet.

"We used to date. She betrayed me. I killed her dad. Then she shocked the hell out me. _Literally_. Then we dated again. Then she betrayed me again. Then I killed her."

Molly felt cold.

"Oh. Do you still love her?"

"NO!"

Molly believed him. That was very emphatic.

"Why do you call out her name then? That wasn't the first time."

"They're testing my electrical output. Elle's ability. Irony's a bitch. So was she." He laughed sardonically, "Being in an incredible amount of pain reminds me of her I guess."

Time to change the subject. "Oh. Well, do you like anyone else?"

"You are such a teen."

"Come on! You said you'd always be honest!"

"I didn't think you would ask me such a juvenile question!"

"You do!"

A sigh.

"Well, it's not like some high school crush."

"WHO IS IT? Is it someone I know?"

Molly wracked he brain for clues. She tried to recall anyone Gabriel had mentioned in the past forty-four days (he kept a pretty accurate count).

"OHMYGODS! Claire Bennet!" Molly actually squealed. She couldn't help herself.

"What? Why would you think that?" He was laying on the indignation a little thick, Molly thought.

"Because every time you say how great Peter is then how much Claire hates you, you get this little smile. So unless you love people telling you that you suck, it means you're in L-O-V-E."

She didn't get a response.

"Ah, eternal love. You two could date forever. Or set the world record for most weddings in a lifetime. Or-"

"Shut up and go to sleep."

Molly didn't even care that her friend was grumbling about immature little girls. She was giggling too much to notice.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire sat straight up. "Molly!"

Molly giggled, "What? Gabriel's a sweet guy. If I was ten or fifteen years older, I'd be interested. You two are going to live forever. Age doesn't matter."

"You're terrible. I can't believe that's what you wanted to tell me." Claire lay back down.

Molly's mirth abruptly halted.

"No. There's something else. It's not funny at all."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Can't we turn on a light or somethin'?"

"Shhhhhhh."

Molly cracked one eyelid and peered under her lashes.

There were two extra people in the cell.

She quickly evened her breathing to feign sleep. She hoped they couldn't hear her racing heartbeat. It was too late…or too early for agents to be here for her or Gabriel. Molly leaned into the hollow of her cellmate's chest ever so slightly. He snored softly.

A voice slid through the darkness. "Aint that a cute picture. Two freaks cuddled all up."

"Can it, Bergen."

Molly knew that snarl. Agent Jackass. She put all her energy into keeping a smooth face.

The task became more difficult as she suddenly felt her body rise into the air. Unreassuringly, she could feel fingernails digging into her back and soft flesh behind her knees in a very _un_telekinetic grip. She was quickly deposited on the other side of the cell. A meaty paw brushed greasy locks from her forehead. Molly hoped it was believable enough that her shudder came from the cold. She did feel the loss of Gabe's body heat, meager as it was.

"Umpf!"

Molly, opened her eyes cautiously. Later, she wished she hadn't.

The other guard, not Agent Jackass, was unlocking the cuffs around her friend's wrists. Their most hated jailer had one of his broad palms over Gabriel's chapped lips. The other was raised mockingly, miming silence. He tapped his index finger against his mouth.

The former killer wasn't totally tamed yet though. With a glint in his narrowed eyes, Gabriel bit down. _HARD. _

Jackson sucked in a sharp breath. Not missing a beat, he cracked his prisoner across the face. Molly watched in silence as her ally shook his head and regained focus. Then he did the unthinkable. Gabriel smiled, baring bloody teeth. Molly resisted the urge to cheer.

"Fuck you, Agent Jackass."

Molly's eyes widened. Hadn't she just been lectured on the "impropriety of foul language and how it is highly unbecoming on a young lady" earlier the same day? _Well, he's not exactly a young lady, _the voice of sarcasm chided in her head.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Gaaaaay-briel?" Molly didn't like where this was going.

In the span of about ten seconds, the other agent had laid Gabriel's back flat to the tiles and pulled his arms above his head, quickly snapping a pair of leather restraints around his thin wrists. "Bergen" kneeled on the watchmaker's upper arms. At the same time, Jackson looped the chain attached to Gabriel's collar around his beefy forearm. He pulled it sharply until Molly's protector started to make small gasping noises as he choked. He used his free hand to tease the top of Gabriel's dirty scrub bottoms.

Molly rolled over so she was facing the wall.

She screwed her eyes shut.

She mentally counted in thousands like Gabriel had taught her, attempting to match her breathing to the numbers.

_One-one-thousand…two-one-thousand…three-one-thousand…_ "Don't…" …_six-one-thousand…seven-one-thousand…_ "Shhh. You don't want to wake your little friend do you? Unless…it could be her turn next?"

_Twelve-one-thousand…Thirteen-one-thousand…Fourteen-one-thousand…Fifteen-one-thousand…Sixteen-one-thousand…Seventeen-one-thousand…Eighteen-one-thousand…Nineteen-one-thousand…Twenty-one-thousand…_

"That's what I thought."

_It's okay if you lose count. Start again Molly. One-one-thousand…two-one-thousand…three-one-thousand…_ …_six-one-thousand…seven-one-thousand…_

"Mmhmmm. That's right."

_One-one-thousand…two-one-thousand…three-one-thousand…_ …_six-one-thousand…seven-one-thousand…Eight-one-thousand…Nine-one-thousand…_

"St-st-stop!"

_Sixteen-one-thousand…Seventeen-one-thousand…_

"Admit it. You like it, Gabri_elle_."

_One-one-thousand…two-one-thousand…_

"N-No!"

_ONE-ONE-THOUSAND. TWO-ONE-THOUSAND. FOUR-ONE-THOUSAND. TEN?_

Molly stopped counting. She clasped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. She was hiding in the cupboard under the stairs all over again. And she was terrified.

A drop of blood slipped down her fingers.

Eventually, it was over. She heard clanking of chains as they were hooked to the wall. She heard a half-strangled gasp at what she guessed was a farewell tug on his collar. Then, she heard nothing.

Molly slowly rolled onto her back. The tile underneath her felt unnatural after so many nights of snuggling.

Two pairs of unblinking eyes stared at the ceiling. Two chests held air until it burned.

Gabriel cracked first.

Molly let him have as much privacy as their close quarters allowed:

She said nothing as Gabriel Gray's ragged sobs suffocated in the darkness.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Does it hurt?"

"Yeah. Yeah it does."

It was the next morning, and Molly was livid. She was frustrated that she had done nothing, but more furious that it had happened in the first place. Now she was curled up next to Gabriel and was rubbing small circles on his back. A key began to turn in the lock.

"Molly, get going before the happy gang comes in."

"No."

"Molly…" Molly wasn't going to listen, even if he did try the parental warning tone on her.

"No."

And then there was Jackson and Bergen. Molly stood in front of Gabriel, arms fisted at her sides.

"Get out of the way squirt. It's time for the big kids to play." She didn't like the way he was laughing at her.

"No."

"Seriously kid, move it." He wasn't joking anymore.

Neither was Molly. She reached up and punched Agent Jackson as hard as she could in the left eye socket.

"Holy Shit!" He was clutching his face in agony hopping from one foot to the other.

Molly mustered up the last of her courage and recalled Gabriel's lecture on foul language.

"There is nothing divine about excrement, Agent Jackass."

The mortified agent leaned an inch from Molly's face. "You have one more chance to make up before you join your boyfriend in testing, little bitch."

Molly stared straight into his still watering eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Agent Jackass _sir."_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Oh my God, you did _not_ say that, Molly!" Claire couldn't believe the transformation Molly had undergone in only two months. She chose to focus on that, rather than her urge to vomit at the agents' nighttime activities.

"Yeah, well. I had cabin fever. By that point, we had only each other for company for fifty-seven days. More importantly, what they did to Gabriel was disgusting. I was tired of it. He's a good guy and they just refused to see it."

Claire pulled her sheets up a little higher. Molly seemed to have a special knack for making her feel guilty. In the very least, she certainly gave her a lot to think about.

"Did you meet that creep, Flanagan?"

"Yeah." Claire would have been startled by the weariness in such a young person if she hadn't heard the rest of the story so far.

"How…was it? The testing? Did they do anything to you?"

"No!" Molly punched the wall on her side of the room. "That was the worst part. They made me watch them torture Gabriel. I was completely powerless to do anything."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Let us go! This isn't fair!"

Molly was struggling to get out of the tight grip Bergen had on her upper arms, but wasn't getting her anywhere. The torture chamber was apparently only two doors down from their cell. They were there before she could do anything.

"Fair? It's _unfair_ to the human race that 'people' like you manifest dangerous mutations that could potentially kill the innocent."

Molly looked up from her struggles. A doctor with a very penetrating stare was appraising her from head to toe.

"Agent Jackson, why did you escort Miss Walker as well as 6655321?"

The guard in question cleared his throat. "Dr. Flanagan, sir, she was extremely unruly and refused to cooperate in letting us remove 6655321 from their cell. She also…punched me." He finished lamely.

Gabriel snickered.

"Of course you would find that amusing 6655321. It seems to be a shared trait that you 'specials' all share a tendency towards uncouthness and violence. Did you know, Miss Walker, that your friend here stuck me in the face, unprovoked, only a month ago?"

"You probably deserved it." Molly was proud that she still sounded tough, despite the array of surgical tools, equipment, and table complete with restraints in the room.

The doctor didn't seem impressed with her response. Molly noticed Dr. Henderson was standing in the far corner, but thought it best not to wave.

"Miss Walker that was not the answer I was hoping for. Today, you will stay here and watch what happens to bad boys and girls who never learn their lesson. I hope you take something from this."

Molly was pushed off to the side as the team of four doctors and two agents prepped her friend for their experiment. When they were nearly finished, Gabriel caught her eye. He looked…determined. He flicked his glance over to the tray of instruments to her left. Molly looked over and back at him questioningly. He gave her a surreptitious nod before kicking Dr. Flanagan square in the jaw with his leg that had yet to be secured.

"Ow!"

That was all the distraction Molly needed. She lunged to the side and grabbed a small scalpel from the tray with her hands cuffed behind her back. She slid it into the waistband of her scrubs. She looked back just in time to watch the creepy doctor twist Gabriel's ankle until a loud pop sounded in the air.

"Mmmmmmph!" It sounded like her friend had bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

Molly really hoped her pilfered item was worth what was probably a sprained, if not broken, ankle.

She watched as Dr. Flanagan peeled the gauze from Gabriel's hands without any hesitation. He tossed the stained strips of fabric into a nearby wastebasket. One of the other doctors attached electrodes to his forehead and chest. Molly's new enemy winked at her before placing a sparking metal prong attached to thick black wires in each of her friend's hands. Said hands were then bound with tight strips of leather. Gabriel couldn't have let go if he tried. Molly closed her eyes when Dr. Flanagan injected a large syringe of fluorescent orange liquid into his victim's thigh.

"September 27, 2010, 0800 hours. Test One. Charging."

If Molly's hands weren't bound, she would have covered her ears.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Did you get it?"

They were back in their cell. Molly had been sitting in quiet contemplation against the metal table, facing her companion for the past two hours and forty-five minutes. She reached into her bottoms and handed the scalpel over.

Gabriel raised his shorn head and met her stare.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Molly."

"It's not your fault."

"It is though. If I had been a better person…"

"We would have never met. We'd both be missing out." She squeezed his knee.

Gabriel moved out of her reach. She furrowed her brow.

He sighed and looked away. "I haven't been completely honest with you Molly."

"I don't care. You're like the big brother I never knew I wanted. I trust you. You know you can tell me anything."

"I do know why we're sharing a cell."

Of all the things he could have said, that was _not_ what Molly was expecting.

"I'm supposed to kill you."

Molly was slightly afraid of her cellmate for the first time in two months.

"I overheard the team talking about us when they thought I was unconscious last week. I was almost out, but not quite. We're here together because they're expecting me to try and take your ability. They want to watch."

Molly looked away.

"After today, I wouldn't be surprised if they found a way to force it. I didn't like the look Flanagan gave you."

She toyed with the hem of her top.

"What are we going to do?" She had to ask. His dull tone was deepening the pit in her stomach.

When no answer seemed forthcoming, she looked up.

Gabriel was twirling the scalpel between his index finger and thumb. Meeting her eye, he stopped and gripped it tightly.

"I'm sorry Molly. I'm not going to hurt you again."

He turned the scalpel towards his right wrist and slashed an angry line towards himself. Switching hands, he nudged the left manacle out of the way and did the same.

"Gabriel! No! No-no-no-no-no-no! Somebody help us!"

For once, she was glad when Jackson and company burst through the door to collect Gabriel for afternoon testing.

Blood soaked and sobbing, Molly desperately tried to feel for a pulse while covering the gouges.

There was none.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Claire? Are you still awake?"

She was. Claire had been lying awake for the past hour after Molly had finished her gut-wrenching story. Apparently, Molly had been removed after the suicide. They changed her clothes and brought her to join the group. Claire could tell that the young teen desperately missed her cellmate.

"Yup."

"I thought it would be a luxury to have my own bed again. I couldn't wait."

Claire hadn't thought of the metal cots with the barred headboards that way before, but she could see why Molly would after two months of sleeping on a hard floor.

"But…?"

"But it's too much space for just me."

"Come on over Molly. You don't need to ask."

As she scooted over to the wall to give Molly some room on the narrow bed, Claire couldn't help but think of Gabriel…Sylar and how he would sleep alone. If he was alive, that is.

"Thanks Claire."

"No problem."

As Molly sniffled into their shared pillow, Claire had one predominant thought.

"_I've got to see Sylar again; we need to talk." _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	9. Break Me Down

**Warning! This chapter is rated M for Language and Violence! **

Hope you enjoy Chapter Nine: Break Me Down

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

What if I wanted to fight  
Beg for the rest of my life  
What would you do?  
You say you wanted more  
What are you waiting for?  
I'm not running from you (from you)

Come break me down  
Bury me, bury me…

~"The Kill" by 30 Seconds to Mars

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"If you had to choose between marrying Peter or going on a date with Gabe, which would you pick?"

Molly's question didn't surprise Claire a bit. In the past month since the two young women had become roommates and friends, they often passed the time with questions designed to throw the other person for a loop and make them think. Claire was at least a little prepared to field that one; it wasn't the first time Molly not-so-subtly hinted at her desire for the watchmaker and the cheerleader to get together.

Claire continued tracing swirling designs on the wall next to her bed with her index finger. It was past lights out, but neither girl felt an overwhelming urge to go to sleep.

"Hmmmmm. Well, Peter's a great guy – sensitive, kind, thoughtful, good hair," She was teasing Molly, but hey, she had to get her fun somewhere, right?

"But he's your _uncle! _Ewwwwww!"

"Yes there is that. He _is _my uncle. On the other hand, there's my uncle's best friend – the bad pun slinging, blood-loving, killing –"

"-Molly-protecting, funny, gentle, _reformed_ killer."

Claire smiled at her companion in the dark. The younger teen's fierce loyalty was really sweet and maybe not _completely _misplaced. She wasn't entirely sure if she was willing to go Team Sylar, or…Gabriel yet, but the combined faith of Molly and Peter gave certainly gave her enough to dwell on. She had to admit she was getting anxious not being able to talk to him herself. She wished she hadn't wasted the opportunity during their storage yard stroll.

"He's not really all that awful to look at either, _I guess_," Claire acceded.

A muffled giggle, unsuccessfully smothered into a thin prison grade pillow, was Molly's only response.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire woke with a start.

Gasping for air, she attempted to regulate her breathing, lest she wake Molly from her undisturbed rest. Claire placed a sweaty palm over her pounding heart. Nightmares were never fun, but she always thought the disorientation upon waking was the worst part.

The same dream had plagued her sleep every night since her first dorm conversation with Molly. The next morning, she and Molly had taken Peter aside and given him basically the same account of the horrors his friend was experiencing. To say he was livid would be an understatement. However, his fervent promise that "There's going to be hell to pay" didn't make Claire sleep any easier.

Each night it was the same:

Sylar was chasing her. She ran, but he always found her: at school, at home, in her college dorm, at her favorite coffee shop. But when he did find her, he didn't try to kill her. Instead, he was looking for a place to hide, or her help, or even once for her to go get Peter. Every time, Claire would respond the same way. She'd turn away and walk, not looking back. But she could feel that magnetic stare on her back, daring her to return. And she wouldn't. Not once.

So she always awoke feeling dirty on the inside. Every night she let her enemy down. He had finally gotten to her. She actually felt guilty. The irony was not lost on Claire that Sylar had finally managed to "get into her head." In fact, the knowledge that he wasn't actually _doing_ anything, but rather that it was her subconscious passing on the relentless message was even more frustrating. Her own mind was betraying her.

At least, that was how she reasoned it.

Claire curled and uncurled her toes in the scratchy wool coverlet at the foot of her bed. Finally calmed down, she let out a soft sigh. Her ears perked up.

It was _quiet._

The silence seemed unnatural in a building where hums, ticks, and mechanical whirs were a part of the daily overture. Claire listened intently. _Nothing._

Cautiously, she climbed out of bed and crept to the door.

Closing her eyes tightly, she turned the knob. They didn't even keep the specials locked into their rooms at night. There was no point with the manual and electronic barriers on all the exiting corridors and entrances. Nightly checks made sure everyone was asleep in their bed. Even if someone did manage to sneak out of their room, a passing orderly was sure to send the powerless prisoner back.

…Which was why Claire was shocked when she peeked into the hallway.

It was deserted.

No orderlies, guards, nurses, or doctors were in the area. Sure the graveyard shift was quiet, but it certainly wasn't nonexistent. Something was definitely going on.

Initially surprised by the absence of personnel, she didn't notice the lack of illumination right away. Scanning down the hallway, Claire quickly noticed she couldn't see very far without the dim fluorescents usually reserved for nighttime use. Unsettled by the eerie silence and emptiness, she ducked her head back into their room. Eying the white sneakers by the foot of her bed, Claire made a resolution.

Tonight, she was either going to get some answers or get out.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter was awaked by whispers just outside his door. That was unusual. Normally, the orderly would only crack the door just wide enough to scan the occupants with a flashlight and be on his way.

"Shhhh…they're probably sleeping. We don't want to scare them."

That was not a male voice. Only male orderlies / guards did checks in the men's dorms.

Peter relaxed and feigned sleep as he heard the door creak open. This could be an opportunity to break out – voive hadn't sounded overly confident. Peter spared a quick glimpse from half-lidded eyes. The two dark shapes creeping towards him were indistinguishable, but seemed to be uncertain and halting. Maybe he could overpower them…

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Aaaaaargh-umph! Peter!"

"Claire?"

"-and Molly."

Claire picked herself up off the floor. For someone who looked dead asleep, Peter still packed a hard punch. If she had been actually able to feel his attack, she imagined it would have really hurt.

"What are you two doing up at this time of night?" Peter sounded worried and mildly annoyed.

"What are you two doing up at this time of night, _in the men's ward?_" So Matt Parkman, Peter's roommate, was also awake then.

Claire tightened her ponytail. "There are no lights, no guards, and no one to stop us from looking around…or finding a way out. That means-"

"-this could be our chance!" Peter ran a hand through his bedhead. "Claire, Molly, go wake up everyone in the women's ward. Watch out for staff and be quiet. We'll meet in the cafeteria as soon as everyone is dressed."

Claire nodded, even though her uncle couldn't see her in the dark. It felt _good_ to be actually doing something.

"It's a plan."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter looked around at the assembled group loosely organized around the long tables. The dim luminescence shinning though the lone window allowed just enough light to reveal the faces around him. Surprisingly, there were less than a dozen inmates present.

"Claire, where are the rest of the women? There must be at least fifty people locked up here, if not more."

His niece chuckled humorlessly, "They didn't want to leave, Peter. Almost everyone was afraid of getting caught. We couldn't even get up to the second floor dorms, there's a key-lock."

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Same with us. I was hoping you would have better luck though. I guess this is everyone…" He trailed off, taking in the familiar faces of Matt, Mohinder, Hiro, Ando, Molly, Claire, and some of the other unknowns from dinnertimes.

"Here's the plan: We're going to look around, check the exits. If there's a way out, we're going to take it. If we get outside the building, I'm going to try and find a way into the building where they're keeping Gabriel." He gave each special an intense stare of determination, daring anyone to disagree. "I'm not leaving without him."

Molly cleared her throat, "Me neither. I'm with you, Peter."

"I trust your judgment Peter. I will join you." Hiro's honest assertion buoyed Peter's confidence.

A reluctant chorus of agreement wafted through the darkness. He was sure he even heard Claire in there. There was hope yet.

"Anyone who doesn't want to risk it is free to go back to your room. There could be serious repercussions if we're caught; I'm not going to lie, punishments could be severe."

Peter felt a twinge of disappointment as four more of their group shuffled to the door and out of sight. He nodded at the remaining number.

"Alright then troops, let's roll."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire inched forward, making sure she stayed connected to the chain of specials. The familiar became foreign in the undefined shadows cast by the faint moonlight glow seeping through the barred window. As the band of fugitives crept out of the cafeteria and through the eerily barren hallway, Claire felt a chill run down her spine. She squeezed the hand behind her, the one belonging to the last person in line. Wait…wasn't _she_ bringing up the rear?

"Peter?"

"Yeah Claire?" was his hushed response. _His hushed response that came from several steps ahead of her._ The grip on her delicate fingers tightened.

"Hello Claire."

"Sylar?"

"Did you say-"

"Sylar?"

"Gabriel?"

"Sylar's here?"

"Gabe? Is it really you?"

"Sylar?"

"Shhhhhhh."

After a light squeeze, her clammy palm was dropped.

"Hi. It's…me."

His quiet acknowledgement silenced the cacophony.

Claire listened to Sylar's uneven breathing fill the void. She was torn between reaching out and turning away.

Peter moved first. "Gabriel, where are you?" His voice was hoarse, and although the darkness prevented Claire from seeing him clearly, she could imagine the emotions playing across his features. His choked tenor was evidence enough of his excitement and disbelief.

"Over here, by Claire." Peter wasn't the only one struggling to stay quiet and calm.

Claire felt a rustle of fabric as her uncle rushed by the specials backed against the wall. Her eyes had adjusted to the black hallway enough to witness the embrace of two inseparable friends kept apart for over half a year. She bit her lip when the thinner shadow flinched at the contact before relaxing slightly.

She looked away.

While heartfelt, the hug was brief by necessity. Peter cleared his throat.

"How did you get out of solitary and in here? Do you think we have a chance of getting out?"

Claire's other hand was let go. She didn't blame Molly for leaving her to sneak in a quick hug and hold hands with her former cellmate.

Peter interjected before his best friend began his story, "Keep moving towards the exit. Gabe, fill us in on the way, if you don't mind."

"Sure. The blackout is my fault. I don't know how much Molly told you," He sounded hesitant, "but Dr. Eff, and co. are playing with my…Elle Bishop's…electrical ability. Something went wrong today – or right, I guess."

"Wait." Molly's high whisper interrupted, "Testing is only in the morning and afternoon. It's the middle of the night."

"3:46, actually…" Claire was unable to resist a small, private smirk. Some things never changed, apparently.

"After you…left, they, uh, weren't happy. It's more of a round the clock kind of thing now. Punishment disguised as research." Claire didn't blame Sylar for the venom in his tone at all.

He snickered, "Luckily, it means they got sloppy. That psychotic doctor and his mindless assistants didn't pay close enough attention to the suppressant formula."

Claire couldn't help herself. "You have your abilities back!" Normally, she wouldn't be excited by the idea of Sylar running around fully armed, but she'd definitely make an exception in this case.

"No. Sorry."

_Damn it…_ The twilight zone-ness of the night was really getting to Claire. She actually felt like crying.

He shyly continued, "I think everyone here has an idea of what my original ability is. Not to get into too much detail, because we _really_ need to get out of here, but basically, I know…how everything works and how to fix it, or break it, on an instinctual level. When scientists start pumping me full of drugs to alter my abilities, my body's natural response is to fight back by shifting my DNA based on an implicit understanding how it's being affected. Your father knows that from his Company days, Claire. It's - So do these mad scientists apparently. They've been really good at predicting the changes, managing to minimize my control and wreaking havoc on my body's defenses. Usually, it's not in my favor. I think…I spent the first two months here in and out of a coma before they figured out the basics… Long story short, this time they really messed up and gave me too much of the drug that reacts with Elle's ability compared to the blanket suppressant.

"I accidentally let out a charge after they were done…for the time being." Claire, listening intently, could tell he was running out of steam. Rushed sentences, trailing thoughts…Sylar sounded like he was about to pass out.

"I didn't mean to, but I somehow overloaded the system. I fell off the table and accidently brushed an electrical outlet. I-they-The current was actually strong enough to temporarily knock out the others in the room. I grabbed the keys off that jackass agent and made a run for it. I'm guessing the reason why we're alone is because the staff is all out looking for me. They probably thought I ran for the gates."

They had reached the first set of locked double doors blocking their path. Claire couldn't quite remember how many hallways there were in the funhouse, but there were definitely enough to waste time trying to navigate.

"Here, pass the keys to the front of the line. Parkman, unlock the door."

"Hold up. You seriously want us to believe that you finally escaped and instead of making a break for it, you stopped by to visit another psych building?" Matt didn't sound impressed at all with the story he had just heard.

"Yes Parkman. This may be hard for you to imagine, but I actually do have a heart. I couldn't care less what happens to you, but I wanted to make sure Peter, Claire, and Molly got out okay."

Claire stifled a snort. Sylar always did respect the truth, if nothing else. It really wasn't funny, but she was a little giddy at the late hour and prospect of freedom.

She quickly sobered up as Matt fumbled through the key ring. "Wait."

"Now what?" Mohinder didn't sound very happy either.

"Shoes. Sylar needs shoes. And a shirt or something. If we're actually going to try and run for it, he needs to be dressed for the outdoors."

"Claire…thank you."

There was so much hope and awe in his simple response that Claire felt mildly uncomfortable. It's not like she actually _cared_ or anything. No, not at all…

Peter exhaled. "Okay, well we're not that far from the men's dorms so-"

The lights flickered to life.

Everyone froze.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel flung a needle-tracked arm over his eyes.

The bright florescent lights seared his retinas after creeping around in the dark since he escaped. As he blinked, trying to clear his vision, Gabriel was dimly aware that having dilated pupils probably didn't help to begin with.

He opened his eyes in time to see Claire Bennet staring at him. Having never been comfortable with critical attention, the intense scrutiny of a woman who still looked _amazing _even in scrubs was doubly unwelcome.

"What?"

Claire cast her eyes downward.

Now he felt like an ass. Obviously he knew what. _If I saw me, I'd probably be grossed out too…_

Someone was touching him. _Let-go-let-go-let-go_ Instinctually, he stumbled back.

"Gabriel, it's okay buddy." Peter's tone wasn't patronizing, only kind.

Molly looked hurt. "Sorry, Gabriel, I didn't think. I-I wanted to see your wrists in the light. That you really are okay."

The reformed villain crossed his arms tightly to his bare chest. Hopefully, his teenaged cellmate wasn't going to ask too many questions in front of the crowd. He felt overwhelmed enough already.

"It's fine." He wished his voice didn't sound so shaky. "They gave me some blood. Not even a scar…" Gabriel's cheeriness sounded false even to his own ears.

_Is the room spinning or is it just me?_

"Hey freaks, anyone seen Gaaaaaay-briel lately?"

_Fuck._

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was so focused on her first glimpse of Sylar in seven months that she didn't hear the group of armed guards file into the corridor. She did not miss, however, the scant remaining color in Sylar's sallow cheeks drain away.

The barrel-chested Jackson pushed his way through the loosely aligned specials, glancing at each one with disdain and then disinterest when he didn't find who he was looking for.

And then he did. His entire countenance brightened as he found his prey.

"Oh little Gabri_elle_. You can't even escape properly." Claire watched angrily as Sylar was roughly pulled away from his slump against Peter.

"We wasted all that time combing the grounds and border looking for you. There are even a couple units out in the woods. Just a sec." He shoved the silent captive into the open arms of another agent Claire didn't recognize. The most hated guard removed his walkie-talkie from his hip and waited as it picked up the signal.

"Agent Jackson, reporting on the status of Inmate 66554321. We've got him. Section 4B, general ward, second floor. Awaiting orders."

Claire remained focused on Sylar. Despite having both arms restrained, the man who plagued her every thought looked oddly calm.

The black box crackled. Jackson turned a knob below the speaker.

"Keep 66524321 with you. Restrain him in one of the solitary cells on the same floor. We still don't have power in Research." Claire felt sick to her stomach as Dr. Flanagan's smooth tone broadcasted in the small space.

"I'll be over in a few minutes. You are authorized to take any means necessary to restrain 66554321."

"Affirmative."

Sylar snapped his head back against his constricting guard. Although shorter, he still managed to connect with the agent's nose.

"Owwwwwwwwwwww!" He let Sylar go to staunch the blood flow. Claire and Sylar's eyes briefly met as he stepped away and crossed his arms. He winked.

In two long strides, Jackson met Sylar, forehead to nose. The brute grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and gave him a hard shake. "Look at me. LOOK AT ME." Sylar refused, instead choosing to gaze into Claire's green orbs. She found herself unable to break from their pull as he seemed to drink in her appearance.

"Fucking stupid shit. Even a dog could take better commands than you." Claire couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey! Back off! You must be the Agent Jackass I've heard so much about. It must suck, being you. Crappy job, escorting innocent people around all day, getting off on other people's pain. What a psycho."

Molly and Peter joined in, cajoling and mocking the frustrated guard. Sylar just stood by, glowing with the support of his allies.

"Shut up!" Agent Jackass grabbed Sylar by the arm and pushed him to the floor in a classic arrest position. He took it a step further and kneeled into the small of his prisoner's back.

"This," he spat at the group of prisoners, "is not something you want to defend. Disgusting." He gestured to the slightly trembling form underneath him. Although forewarned, Claire still found it hard to take in the myriad of abrasions that leant the only color to Sylar's otherwise sickly pallor.

He wrenched Sylar's right arm behind his back. Now Claire could see what he was trying to hide from Molly. Large black, block letters circled his wrist. She tried to get a better look without being noticed.

She failed.

"Oh, you wanna see its tags? Let me read them to you." He leaned further into Sylar's spine. He twisted the near skeletal arm to get a better look. "September 26 Third Attempt, Successful: Slit wrists."

Claire felt her eyes begin to water.

"Oh, here's another one." He was examining the back of Sylar's neck. "June 14 Second Attempt, Unsuccessful: Hanging by chains."

"May 3, First Attempt, Unsuccessful: Self mutilation." He leered at Claire conspiratorially, "He tried to bit his hand off."

She thought she might throw up.

"After the last suicide, we decided it would be easier to just record them in permanent marker. If we have to be reminded every time we look at him, so should he."

He was practically laying on top of the watchmaker. Breathing close to his ear, he snapped the waistband of the scrub bottoms. "Should I read them the 'love notes' further down, 66554321? Tell us your name."

"Umpffgh"

"I'm sorry. What was that?" Jackson twisted Sylar's arm further until Claire heard a pop.

"Gabriel."

"I didn't catch that?"

Claire heard a snap.

"Gabriel."

And then another.

"66554321! 66554321!"

The guard smirked. "That's what I thought. Get up."

Claire felt moisture trickling down her cheeks.

She watched as her brutalized and broken enemy struggled to pick himself up. With only one capable arm, it was impossible. Exasperated, Agent Jackson pulled Sylar up by his ruined arm. Judging from the odd angles and slump, Claire guessed it was probably dislocated from his shoulder and broken in at least two places.

Keeping a firm grip under Sylar's armpit, he turned his head slightly to call, "Bergen, Jones, Kellick, keep an eye on this bunch. Samuels, stay alert for further communication." Peter burst forward, but was hauled back by Bergen. "You sick fuck! You're not going to get away with this!" He had tears of his own, Claire noticed.

Jackson just laughed. Claire ignored him and looked to Sylar. His eyes were glassy and he was fidgeting. _Probably from stress..._

Catching his eye one last time, Claire mouthed, "I'm sorry." Sylar shook his head. As he was practically dragged forward, Claire noticed that his fidgeting had turned to snapping. He was snapping his fingers. _Why…_

A spark. A faint blue spark bounced from between his index finger and thumb. Peter saw it too.

"Gabriel, no!"

The agents didn't clue into why Peter was yelling.

Just before he disappeared from sight, Claire called out softly, "Gabriel, be careful."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Through a haze of pain and distress, Gabriel managed one coherent thought:

_Gabriel. She called me Gabriel._

They had reached his temporary cell.

_I could die a happy man right now._

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire and the other would-be escapees idled in the corridor. They had almost made it. _So close._

Instead, now they were being watched while waiting for the guards to receive further orders.

She was wondering what had happened to Gabriel when _it_ happened.

Later, the specials would all agree that they felt, rather than heard the explosion.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	10. Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

**WARNING: Blood, gore, and violence. I swear, someday the chapter heading isn't going to say that. But in the meantime, I don't want to give anything away, so…**

**Please enjoy Chapter Ten: Lost**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Lost and insecure  
You found me, you found me  
Lying on the floor  
Surrounded, surrounded  
Why'd you have to wait?  
Where were you? Where were you?  
Just a little late  
You found me, you found me

~ "You Found Me" by The Fray

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire spread her lithe arms for balance as the floor beneath her feet seemed to shift.

Bergen clicked a button on his walkie-talkie.

"Come in, Agent Jackson."

_Click_

The electronic static in the hallway barely concealed Claire's pounding heartbeat.

_Click _

"Come in, Agent Jackson."

_Click_

"Come in, Dr. Flanagan."

_Click_

Further crackling was the only response he received.

The agent shifted from one foot to the other. He looked anxious. If Claire's dog show days with Mr. Muggles had taught her anything, it was the idiosyncrasies of canine behavior. There were two kinds of pups in this world: Alpha dogs, and their followers. Claire was reminded of Jackie (May she rest in peace) and her obedient pompoms at Union Wells.

Agent Bergen was obviously _not_ the top dog at Blackburn.

"Well, men. We uh, better figure this out." He nodded to the two guards stationed at the head of the loosely formed line, "You two split up and look for command on levels one and three. You other guys, uh…guard the exits." The other agents turned sharply on their heels and went to their assigned duties. That just left Bergen and another uniform. He nodded to himself, gaining confidence in his ability to lead.

Glancing dismissively at the motley crew of specials, he shoved his walkie-talkie back into his holster. "You stay here with this bunch. I'm going to go make sure 66554321 isn't giving Jackson any trouble."

The agent's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Sir, this many-"

"What kind of a man are you Kellick?" He stuck out his jaw. "This," he snickered, "Powerless bunch of wimps? Just put them to bed. Don't take no whining. And remember your taser if anyone gets any funny ideas."

He stalked off in the direction Claire had just seen Sy…Gabriel and Jackass take only moments before.

The nervous solo agent cleared his throat. "You heard what Agent Bergen said, off to bed."

Claire caught Peter's eye.

_Not gonna happen._

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire peeked from behind Peter's hunched shoulders. It had taken less than three minutes to take the lone agent out of commission. She tried to remain stone faced as she and Peter made their way down the pastel hallway. It was hard not to smile though as she recalled the way Peter had promptly elbowed the agent in the face, Molly kicked him in the shin, and not to be left out of the action, Claire herself had kneed him in the groin. It felt so good to actually be doing something.

They left Molly behind to watch that he didn't alert anyone to her and Peter's departure.

So far, so good.

Peter extended his nose a hair's breadth around the corner. "We're clear," he whispered.

Claire found it extremely odd that so far they hadn't seen or heard anyone. It was like she and Peter were the only two people left in the house of horrors.

Regardless of the eerie silence, both uncle and niece took care to tread softly as they slunk down their third corridor.

As they made their way through endless beiges and creams, Claire couldn't help but wonder what went on behind all the closed doors at the facility. Were many of them empty? This was an abandoned facility…as far as she knew. Did the employees have private dorms as well?

It didn't matter for now. There was no time to wander around while Gabriel needed them. She didn't even bother to check herself this time. Later, after…_whatever_…happened, Claire could reason out her motivations and changing feelings.

"Wait." Peter's arm snaked out to stop Claire's pursuit. The pair ducked into one of the nearby doorways. "Do you hear that?"

Claire tilted her ponytailed head slightly as she strained to hear the noise that caused the furrows in Peter's brow to deepen.

_Laughter? _

"Yeah, I do…" That was not what Claire had been expecting. There wasn't the slightest bit of amusement to be had on this incredibly weird night.

Resting her head against the cool doorjamb, Claire turned her gaze to Peter. "Do we want to investigate?" Peter nodded grimly, "I don't think we have much choice, Claire."

Continuing their trek, Claire had no idea what to expect. As they drew closer to the sound, Claire's stomach began to clench uncomfortably. It wasn't the jovial chuckle of the entertained that had drawn their attention. No, there was definitely a tinge of mania to peals of laughter growing louder by the footstep.

Finally, they reached the only barrier separating the inmates from whatever disturbing event was concealed from view by concrete and metal. Claire couldn't shake the image of a mad scientist and his Frankenstein monster from her exhausted brain.

Peter gave her a tight smile before throwing open the door.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_Oh my God. _

_Oh my GOD. _

"Claire."

_Oh my-_

"Claire!"

Claire was dimly aware that someone was gently shaking her shoulders. She couldn't focus on the motion with Sylar's cackles ringing in her ears.

The small room, _possibly a surgical suite, _the rational part of her mind supplied, was completely red. It couldn't be blood. There was just too much.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter had never been so glad in his life that he was trained to handle crisis situations. However, surveying the grotesque scene around him, no amount of paramedic experience could have ever adequately prepared Peter for this.

There were body parts _everywhere. _

The mangled remains of god-only-knows how many staff members were strewn about the room in various sizes and shapes. Blood spatter and flesh coated nearly every surface. Focusing on the one clean spot in the carnage – a metal operating table – Peter tried to piece together what happened. The void in the…mess…could only suggest that someone had been prone on the steel surface. Judging from the unbuckled restraints and solitary life form shaking against the wall, Peter could guess that survivor and perpetrator were one and the same.

Swallowing the urge to vomit, (but just barely), Peter tried to prioritize. The men – if you could still call them that – were dead. Claire seemed to be in a state of shock, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Gabriel was the worst off, obviously in a deep state of hysteria and possibly homicidal. Taking a final glance at the carnage, Peter spied a video camera and tripod toppled on the streaked linoleum. It could wait until he brought Claire back to reality to help salvage whatever they could out of the situation.

He hoped they could save the serial killer from himself.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Something was dripping on her forehead. It trickled down her cheek to spot her scrubs. Claire tried not to notice, but an errant drop clumped in her eyelashes and dimmed her vision. She swiped a hand across her face.

Blood. But not hers. She was so used to seeing her own lifeblood spilled, spattered, and stained that it shouldn't have been so alarming. So why did the sight of the innocuous red liquid startle her back into awareness?

The sheer volume maybe? Looking up, Claire could see that even the ceiling had its fair share of congealing crimson.

All at once, sound came roaring back to her eardrums. Sylar's deranged laughter still rang in the enclosed space. Peter was calling her name gently, yet also with an edge of urgency. And she could hear the steady drip of _not_ running water. Ignoring the others, Claire focused on Peter's tenor and cleared her throat.

"Yeah?" Why did her voice sound so husky and strained?

"Good Claire, glad to see you're back." Peter offered her a pained smile. Grimace was more like it. Not pausing to allow her to retreat back into shock, he continued, "Sweetheart, if you think you can, I want you to go over to that camera and see if it still works. See if you can rewind the tape so we can figure out what happened here."

Claire squared her diminutive shoulders. She could do this. She had to keep moving in the moment.

"I'm on it." Stepping over a severed arm, Claire walked briskly to the opposite corner of the room. She tried valiantly to ignore the shattered watch on the appendage. It only reminded her of _him. _

Fumbling with the recorder, Claire cursed herself. How could she ever have let her guard down, even in the slightest? He was a killer. He always would be. He'd always be Sylar.

Sparing a furtive peak over her shoulder, Claire took in Peter gently tapping Sylar's cheeks and repeating his name to get his attention. She couldn't see his face, but if the heaving shoulders and maniacal guffaws were any indication, Sylar was a world away from his former roommate and not getting any closer.

The ex-cheerleader pressed play.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"_-Can't believe that you actually thought you'd get out," The disembodied voice admonished while adjusting the zoom lens. There was no response from the blurred figure in the foreground. "Wait for me a sec while I cue up the film for the docs. I know they gotta get this all on record for their research." The off screen camera operator fiddled with the focus some more until the grainy picture settled on a wide focus of a man half slumped / half leaning against a surgical steel table. _

"_Really, Gaaaaaybriel. Just what were you thinking?" The man stepped from behind the tripod to smack the captive upside the head mockingly. _

_Agent Jackson. _

"_I asked you a question. Answer me!"_

Claire watched, enraptured, as Sylar opened his left palm to reveal a glowing ball of electricity.

"_That anything was better than waiting to see your ugly face again, Agent Jackass." He gestured towards the 'shocked' agent, rendering him unconscious. After offering the stunned guard a subdued version of his trademark smirk, Sylar crumpled to the ground. _

_A brief moment passed before a troop of labcoat-clad scientists filed into the doorway, (off screen), chatting animatedly about the blackout. Only snatches of their conversation were audible. _

"…_level three…warned you" "..did he…" "No…thought…weak"_

_Of course, the two motionless forms on the tiled floor immediately drew their attention. _

"_What the Hell? Jackson, report!" _Claire would recognize Dr. Creepy's threatening tone anywhere.

"_He looks a little under the weather, don't you think Dr. Flanagan?" _She hadn't met the doctor with the barely restrained snicker. _He bent to inspect the slightly smoking agent. "Pulse is thready, but it's there. Looks like he's been zapped."_

"_I can see that Henderson," the lead researcher returned with thinly veiled contempt. "Take this buffoon to your infirmary and go play doctor while we pick up where we left off with 66554321." _

Claire's view of the proceedings was briefly obscured by white fabric when one of the labcoats stepped in front of the lens. The murmurs were hard to decipher from the low-quality recording, but she distinctly heard a low moan come from the direction of the table. The man blocking her line of vision moved forward to assist. She swallowed a wave of nausea.

_Sylar was in the process of being restrained to the table. Around him, the other three scientists were snapping on rubber gloves and gowns pulled from an open supply cupboard. Dr. Flanagan was tightening the belt-like restraints around his test subject's chest. The doctor's dark eyes revealed his cruel excitement even as the rest of his face was obscured by a sterile mask. He surveyed his subject's already bound ankles and feet._

_Pale toes curled and uncurled in agitation. _

_The malicious doctor leaned in to whisper in Sylar's ear. _Claire leaned in too.

_His tone was more of a stage quality, rather than of one trying to keep a secret. _Claire could hear every malicious syllable. _"You are going to be a very sorry young man." He grabbed the fidgeting captive's wrist and pulled sharply. Sylar writhed in agony as his mangled arm was straightened into the waiting buckles. _

"_mmmmohhhh-"Claire_ bit her lip and barely registered the taste of iron. _"Shhhhhhhh, little 66554321. Obviously, you're still ready to play if you can shock Agent Jackson and manage to lead us all on a wild goose chase around the compound after the last test run. If you wanted to try some of the surgical experiments, all you had to do was ask. You didn't need to run all the way over here." He eagerly accepted a glinting scalpel from a gloved assistant. _

"_Now, let's just find out just what makes you _tick."

"_NO!" Sylar twisted in his restraints, unintentionally raising his palms towards the steel blade. "Get away from me!" _

_One of the assistants leaned in with a plastic mask that would supply sleep and take away any remaining fight the captive had left._

"_No! Stop!" Fingers splayed, eyes screwed shut, Sylar did what came naturally. _

_The huddle of hungry researchers was launched in all directions from the force of the telekinetic attack. Had it merely been a wave of energy, they might have survived. However, the attack was fueled with all the pain, fear, and desperation borne of six months confinement and torture. It was as sharp as any instrument of pain the medical team could have supplied. Sylar's primary weapon had always been his fatally precise telekinesis, and at the moment that he most needed protection, his body supplied it. _

_The blast of telekinesis that emanated from the tired and broken body could have only been accidental. As the various clumps of body matter slid down walls and surfaces, the source of the massacre remained prone on the table. Chest heaving, Sylar looked around in confusion. Round brown eyes took in the destruction. Anticlimactically, the leather restraints popped open. _

_Ragged gasps of air turned into a low sob. As he struggled to get off the cold metal, Sylar slid clumsily to the floor three feet below. Tears turned into maniacal laughter as his scrubs were soaked with the blood of his latest victims. _

_The picture cut to black and then static. There was no tape left. _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire stumbled to her feet. Lightheaded, she let out a breath she didn't even register she was holding.

As she stood, a small noise drew her attention. Curious, Claire followed the sound to behind an overturned tray of wicked looking instruments. It was a man. Well, what was left of a man. Only the torso and head remained. She avoided looking at what was missing and focused on the face.

Dr. Flanagan.

Her heart began to race. How was he still alive?

"H-h-he-help me…" Claire stared into the icy eyes of the man who had caused all this. His lone hand was tugging on her trailing scrub bottoms. She had asked if they could be hemmed to fit her short legs but was regarded with scorn…

It was _him._ His fault. All of it. The sick bastard had loved making them feel worthless. He tortured Peter's friend for months on end. _And he enjoyed it_. Claire was filled with a loathing and hatred unlike any she could have imagined.

"C-Call…infirm…"

Instead she stood over the remains of their tormentor. She had a choice. He probably wouldn't survive anyways, but it was her decision to do something.

She didn't move.

As she watched the life leave the eyes of the evil doctor, Claire felt a part of herself die too. The college student examined his cruel eyes long after they clouded over with the film of the dead. Dimly, she was aware that Sylar could add another check to his columns of similarity – _"Watched a man die. No, committed murder…"_

On autopilot, Claire made her way over to Peter and Sylar / Gabriel / whoever the hell he was these days. Claire didn't know and didn't want to try and figure it out. She had never felt so tired in her life. Just one foot in front of the other.

"Peter?"

Her uncle looked up from his charge. The wild laughter had died off somewhat to be replaced by short rasping wheezes and chortles. Claire noticed tears leaking from beneath those impossibly long lashes. She visually traced their tracks through the dried streaks of red on his hollow cheeks.

"Yeah, Claire." Peter didn't take his eyes off his hysterical friend. He squeezed the unresponsive man's knee in reassurance.

"He didn't do it. Well, he did, but it was self defense. I don't even think he tried to. He-he-"

Peter wrapped his spare arm around her shaking shoulders. "I know."

The trio sat intertwined. No one spoke for an age.

"P-P-Peter?"

Claire raised her head so fast she might have heard a snap.

"Gabriel, it's okay, we're here. It's me, Peter. Claire's here too, okay?" The blonde waved awkwardly and tried to mop up her face a bit.

It didn't matter though, since Gabriel still wasn't seeing them. He had opened his eyes, but not for sight. He stared beyond the two of them unblinkingly. "I'm sorry Peter, I broke number five."

"What? Oh, no that's fine, it's not the same thing."

"I broke number five."

"Gabriel, look at me."

"I broke number five,"

"Gabriel!"

"I broke number five."

Claire watched in horror as her uncle and enemy were locked into some kind of mental struggle. Gabriel was rocking back and forth clutching the sides of his shorn head. Peter was trying, and failing, to get Gabriel to look him in the eyes. Like a sick mantra, Gabriel just kept repeating, "I broke number five" in a deadened voice.

"Peter what's wrong with him?" Claire was truly frightened. She hoped Peter could inject some sanity back into the situation.

Massaging his temples, the hero fell back on his haunches. "He's in shock. Or he was. I'm not a doctor, but it looks like brief reactive psychosis. Gabriel, can you hear me?"

He continued rocking and whispering to himself like he was the only person in the world.

"Well what does that mean? Can we fix him?" Claire refused to believe that Peter, the strongest person she knew, couldn't solve any problem. He had saved her after all.

"It was too much. _This-"_ He gestured towards his unresponsive friend,_ "-_ has probably been building and the 'explosion' sent him over the edge - mental breakdown. We need a doctor." Claire squeezed Peter's slightly trembling hand.

No sooner had Peter spoken then they heard the door creak open behind them. Neither even bothered to move. Aside from a quick inhalation of the fetid air, the room's newest occupant didn't show any signs of discomfiture. He knelt down beside the inmates.

"Somebody brief me. Now."

Peter began chattering to the older man in a stream of medical jargon that she couldn't follow with her focus stuck on the babbling nonsense. Claire caught a glimpse of an ID badge underneath his standard white coat as the doctor began searching for a pulse on Gabriel: Henderson.

"You're the doctor that Molly told us about -the one who's not _as_ twisted as everyone else here."

His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. "That's me." He met her curious gaze with a penetrating stare of his own. "Miss Bennet, I need silence while I try to get a count to work with." He pressed his index and middle fingers into the obliviously chanting man's carotid artery. He held his wristwatch to his ear for measurement. The steady ticking engulfed the room.

"Your watch's slow…minute-forty-two…" The slur was unmistakably the watchmaker's. He blinked sluggishly and promptly sagged into the doctor's collarbone. No surprise that he was barely conscious, but the resumption of his confusing mantra was alarming. Later, she'd have to ask her uncle what the unceasing monotone referred to. Right now, Peter was rubbing small circles on Gabriel's back; she could tell from his eyes that shone with unshed tears he was frustrated to not be doing more.

Henderson radioed into headquarters, but Claire didn't listen to his clipped instructions. She wanted a bath. Her bed. And a hug from her mom. Maybe even a snuggle with Mr. Muggles.

In a daze, she absently observed two orderlies arrive with a gurney. Dr. Henderson and his assistants fluidly transferred Gabriel from the floor to the temporary bed. Peter struggled with one of the guards briefly, but he knew that he couldn't do anything for his friend. Claire would have comforted him, but she felt too hollow to offer any kind of meaningful consolation.

"You two best go clean yourselves up and go back to bed."

The doctor was talking to them. _Oh_.

"I want to go with you. Gabe needs a friend, not you psychos." Peter hadn't given up then.

"Mr. Petrelli, I understand that you want to help, but the best thing you can do right now is take your niece back to your ward." So they were talking about her.

"But-"

"Peter." The doctor's voice was firm, but not unkind. "Mr. Gray needs medical attention. Miss Bennet needs _you_ right now. I'll be in touch to update you on his condition."

"Promise?" Claire was vaguely aware how young her savior sounded.

"Promise. Now, Orderly Wilde will escort you back to your rooms."

Claire barely registered the journey back to imprisonment.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Outside her dorm, Peter enveloped Claire into his weary arms. A second too late she felt her arms lift to hold him close. When his chin was cradled between her collarbone and neck, she heard a sniffle. He was trying not to cry for her sake.

That did it.

The flood of emotions inaccessible earlier hit her like a ton of bricks.

_Anger_

_Frustration_

_Helplessness_

_Anguish_

_Loss_

_Regret_

"Peter?"

"Yeah, Claire?" He pulled back far enough to meet her viridian gaze.

"This isn't over."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	11. I'll Look After You

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Step one you say we need to talk  
He walks you say sit down it's just a talk  
He smiles politely back at you  
You stare politely right on through  
Some sort of window to your right  
As he goes left and you stay right  
Between the lines of fear and blame  
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend  
Somewhere along in the bitterness  
And I would have stayed up with you all night  
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best  
Cause after all you do know best  
Try to slip past his defense  
Without granting innocence  
Lay down a list of what is wrong  
The things you've told him all along  
And pray to God he hears you  
And pray to God he hears you

~ "How to Save a Life" by _The Fray_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo _

"_Seriously, Peter?" _

_Peter wasn't intimidated at the bushy eyebrow raised at his announcement. He had spent far too much time in the nightmare city of Matt Parkman's creation not to recognize when Gabriel Gray was teasing and not threatening. _

"_Yes 'seriously' Gabriel. Now, try actually being serious for a minute and listen to me." Peter tapped the hand written list he had just posted on the refrigerator in his apartment. His index figure slightly smudged the penciled number one on the first line. "If we are going to live together," he could tell when his former enemy was trying to stifle a smile too, "there are going to be some house rules. Please read them." _

_The recently emancipated serial killer rolled his eyes and turned towards the list. Peter knew that both of them had changed during their shared imprisonment, Sylar especially so, but the paramedic was still wary of letting him loose on the world without supervision. After escaping back to his small apartment post-ferriswheel announcement, Peter realized he still had Sylar in tow. The watchmaker sheepishly admitted that he didn't know where to go. Apparently, running around the country killing and stealing powers lead to a very nomadic lifestyle. Sylar's old apartment was out, since he assumed the police might track him there. It had been a week and neither man had shown any real sign of wanting separate accommodations. Peter had to admit (only to himself of course) that it would seem weird not to have the other guy around after being stuck alone with him in his messed up head for years. He wasn't sure yet how to define their relationship in the real world… allies maybe…strained acquaintances or something like that. Peter didn't hate his new serial killer buddy anymore, but that didn't mean he had to trust him completely either. He would however, give him a chance. _

"_Say them out loud so I know you're actually reading them and not just trying to pacify me by pretending." _

_Peter was treated to another chocolate brown eye roll. The lanky man crossed his arms and began reciting in a tired voice:_

"_Rule One: No drinking milk out of the carton. Juice is okay though. Peter, you are so weird sometimes."_

"_Shut up and keep going."_

"_Rule Two: No talking while Peter watches 'Dancing with the Stars.' I rest my case."_

"_Hey! Bruno is hilarious…never mind. The list?"_

"_Rule Three: No singing in the shower before 6am. Peter that was a onetime thing I swear…"_

"_Ah-hem."_

"_Rule Four: No gazing at pictures of Claire when I think Peter isn't looking. That never happened. Ummm… _

_Rule Five: No Killing."_

_If looks could kill, Sylar would have broken the cardinal rule already. "Yes, Gabriel," (Peter still found it weird to call the guy by his given name, but he had promised to give him a chance), "That's what it says. No Killing."_

_The intensity of his new roommate's stare was unnerving, but Peter wasn't going to back down on this one. _

"_Does that apply just for the apartment or outside too?" Peter felt his eyebrows arch of their own volition. "Seriously Peter, I've changed. I'm not going to go on a killing spree just because there are other people around now. I can be better than that." _

_Peter reached out and squeezed the glaring man's shoulder. "I think so too. It's just a reminder. And I have to follow the rules too."_

"_So do I get to add rules too?" Peter could tell by the mischievous smirk just barely playing on Sy…Gabriel's lips that the tense moment was over. _

"_Yup. As long as they're not too crazy-" _

"_Alright then, let's get started. Rule Six: He who drinks the end of the OJ must replace the OJ. Rule Seven: No using another dude's hair product unless it is a legitimate emergency. Rule Eight: No murmuring lovingly in your sleep, 'Emma! Emma! Ohhhhhh Emma I looooove you so much! Emmaaaaaaa-Ooof!" So lost in kissy noises and fake swoons, Gabriel didn't have time to dodge Peter's tackle._

_Still laughing, the watchmaker tried to roll out of his would be-attacker's grip. "Rule Nine: No emo bangs longer than the bottom of one's eyebrows." _

_Rule ten was lost in a fit of unmanly giggles from both parties. The roughhousing lasted a few minutes longer before the grown men regained control of themselves. Gabriel cleared his throat and straightened his collar. "This never happened, right?"_

"_Right." _

_The solemn silence between the two former enemies was broken by another round of snickers and titters. _

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire watched Peter glance towards the door of the cafeteria for the third time in the past half hour. He didn't seem to be listening to Mohinder's musings on extraterrestrial life in the slightest. She wondered if he was thinking about…him…again. Claire had hardly thought of anything else in the past thirteen days. An unceasing soundtrack of manic laughter rang in her ears no matter what she did to distract herself. Red tinged her vision even as she fixated on the cool pastels of the lunchroom.

She was tired of feeling conflicted. Tired of being torn between revulsion and curiosity, loathing and pity. Tired of waiting around for something,_ or someone_, to make up her mind.

Peter just looked tired. The dark circles under his weary eyes seemed to deepen overnight, every night. Claire was sure he was equally as preoccupied as she with the fate of their missing serial killer. She secretly thought that Peter was making the waiting game harder on himself by losing himself in memories. After he had provided the context of Sylar's hysterical ramblings on the broken rule five, Claire had lain awake wondering what he was like as a housemate for a great portion of lights out. In the end, she just felt more conflicted and irritable due to lost sleep.

Poking the mound of wobbling green desert on her lunch tray, Claire wrinkled her nose. If nothing else, she was sure of one thing:

Life in prison sucks.

As she was halfway through carving specimen slide worthy slivers of the semi-congealed goo, footsteps approached the cafeteria. Her ears perked at the muffled sound. Lunch wasn't over for another twenty minutes. The allotted number of guards was already inside with the inmates. No one should be coming.

Peter caught her eye over his corned beef.

The grind of an iron key in its mated lock had Claire gripping the Formica table with all her might. _It couldn't be…_

"Gabriel?" Molly's soft whisper barely reached Claire as she felt the blood rushing to her head. He was here. Led in by a solemn faced guard, Gabriel Gray was back.

Well, not really.

The man standing only three feet from her touch couldn't have been the same villain that had taunted her, poked around in her brain, laughed and made her cry. He looked like Sylar, physically at least. Characteristic dark hair was beginning to form fine fuzz on his head and face. His normally expressive brows were unmistakable. Even his injuries, from bruises to a casted arm obscured by a buckled sling, were consistent with those the infamous patient had suffered.

But there was something _wrong. _This man was blank where Sylar was anything but. Whether he was poking around in her brain or creepily proposing over pinot noir, the villain always had a spark in his fathomless dark eyes. The impostor's dull gaze drifted to the floor without focus.

The guard-cum-orderly unlocked a set of handcuffs that tethered the slightly swaying man to the utility belt on his hip. He prodded Sylar lightly in the side. "Go sit down over there with the others."

Claire watched, dumbfounded, as the most powerful special remained exactly where he was. After months without freedom, she expected him to march on over. The gray scrubbed escort didn't seem nearly so surprised. "Of course not," he murmured, not unkindly.

Without another word, the guard led the shell of Gabriel Gray to the empty end of the lunch table by the shirt sleeve. Gesturing to a slack jawed Peter, he intoned, "Peter Petrelli, orders from the higher ups are that I bring you back with me."

Peter frowned while sliding towards his friend on the bench. "No, I need to see if Gabriel's okay."

"_But he's obviously NOT okay!" _Claire's inner voice screamed.

The guard leaned in conspiratorially, "It's about him."

Claire's stomach dropped to her knees. She couldn't lose Peter; he was one of the only people keeping her sane. The only response she could muster was a second too late, "What?" Peter was already halfway to the door. Giving her a strained smile, he cheerfully, (a little _too _cheerfully), called, "Look after Gabriel. Don't have too much fun without me."

The door shut with entirely not enough force to punctuate this awkward situation. Sparing a glance over her glass of tepid water, Claire glimpsed the man of the hour slowly slumping against the table until his forehead hit the plastic with a dull thud.

"So…"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Peter made his way to the office signified by a nondescript placard on an equally mundane black door in a fog. "**Dr. J. Henderson**" filled his vision. Vaguely, he had the sense of being called to the principal's office for some misdeed or another. The silent guard knocked on the door to announce their presence before shoving Peter through. It was the first time Peter had seen Henderson since that horrible night two weeks before.

"Peter, I called you here because of your unique abilities."

Peter eyed the doctor. While he was trusting by nature, (some would even say naïve), growing up a Petrelli had gifted Peter with a healthy dose of skepticism. Warily, he took a seat opposite the other man.

"Meaning what exactly?"

Henderson folded his hands on the overstuffed dossier on the table.

"You can be both friend and caretaker to Gabriel Gray. You already have an established friendship and you are a paramedic, correct?"

Peter shifted forward slightly. "I was. Before the abduction. But you knew that, didn't you?"

A pregnant pause replaced the stilted conversation.

Henderson spoke first. "Let me ask you a question: do you want what's best for Gabriel?"

Peter wasn't sure how to respond. Of course he cared about his friend. After the imaginary years spent together, and the real world months, he had grown to care deeply about Gabriel. He didn't want to give the staff anything they could use against the already damaged man.

"Yes…"

"And?"

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Before the former hospice nurse found out that empathy was a super power and not just a part of his personality, he had always relied on his gut instinct when relating to other people. Right now, that same instinct was telling him that he had to concede, at least a little, to the doctor. Focusing on the stern, yet gentle expression Henderson displayed after the staff massacre, Peter followed his feelings.

"…And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help Gabriel. What's wrong with him?"

Peter's new ally inhaled deeply before flipping the folder on the desk open. He removed a sheet from the back and began skimming the small typeface.

"Acute Reactive Psychosis with Catatonia brought on by the stress of confinement culminating in the episode of hysteria and apparently accidental diffusion of telekinetic energy on October 31, 2010."

Peter had definitely witnessed the psychosis. He didn't think he'd ever be able to forget the manic laughter and obvious disassociation his friend experienced. The catatonia was a worrisome development though…

"Catatonic how? What features?"

Henderson nodded approvingly of Peter's question. "Typical features: stupor, withdrawal, posturing, body rocking-"

"Unresponsiveness? He's mute too, I'm guessing?" Peter really wished he wasn't a medical professional right then. It was one thing to treat other people, but your friends and family were something else altogether.

"Yes."

"You said stupor – if he's immobile, Gabriel's not eating?"

"Correct. We've been keeping him in the infirmary on parenteral nutrition via intravenous fluids."

"Have you tried him on any benzodiazepines?"

"Yes. We've got him on a rotation of various combinations to see if there is any improvement. So far we're drawing a blank."

Peter had to ask what had been on his mind the entire meeting. Here was his chance. "So why did you release Gabriel to us? Why isn't he still in solitary?"

Henderson closed the manila folder and tapped it on the desk, shuffling the contents into order. Was he stalling?

"There's no point. Mr. Gray's mental state is clearly not an act. First we left him unrestrained in a room alone, then with an unlocked door, then an open door; he never tried to leave, never even moved from his hospital bed."

Peter felt sick. "That doesn't answer my question. Why aren't you keeping him locked up still?"

"It appears that Mr. Gray is not a threat to himself or others at this time. He is still on ability suppressants and has shown no sign of exhibiting powers of any type. Even when injected with the counteracting formula, none of the still viable abilities manifest." Reading confusion into Peter's furrowed brow, the scientist explained, "In early stages of experimentation, researchers extracted remnants of the Shanti virus in a mutated, dilute form from the Gray blood sample. When manipulated, it formed the rudimentary ability suppressant. It did not work as intended, however, taking some abilities and leaving others, seemingly at random. For awhile, Mr. Gray even held onto the regeneration power, even in a weakened state. About a month before you…encountered…him, Gabriel seemed to possess remnants of telekinesis, electric manipulation, shape shifting…Every time the counteracting agent was used, one of those abilities was drawn out. Odd that some seemed especially resilient."

Peter swallowed. _"Shit. Those are his abilities taken by empathy. They still must not know how his ability really works."_

Henderson didn't seem to notice Peter's sudden discomfort, as he was so lost in thought. "And of course, intuitive aptitude." He snorted without humour, "You can't begin to imagine how infuriated that bastard Flanagan was anytime he thought he was close to breaking Gray, and then someone would notice that he wasn't listening to a conversation, but was following the ticking of a watch, or figuring out how to short out the electrical grid, or just back talking a little _too_ effectively to get a rise out of one of the staff." He caught Peter's eye, but misinterpreted his pale countenance. "Didn't you know that? Apparently intuitive aptitude extends to reading others' body language and getting a 'sense' of that person. It was in the file from The Company of course, but it sounded so outlandish –" an uncanny ability to charm and manipulate others through intuitive cues." That is, until one of our senior researchers came out of his cell in tears after a particularly creative and apt insult about said scientist's mother.

"But I digress. The point is, there are no abilities, and therefore there is no material for research. Unless, of course, the finding that there appears to be a link between emotions and meta-human abilities." He seemed to notice that Peter was on the verge of punching him, _really hard. _

"In addition, from a humanistic viewpoint, it seems cruel to keep Mr. Gray isolated from those who might encourage a return to himself. In the infirmary, we treated his physical injuries, but the real benefit might yet come from some familiar interaction."

"Why didn't you try the regen blood?"

"Approval is needed from above and I didn't get it. Emergencies only."

"So Gabe's broken and you expect me to fix him so you can play with your toy again. Why would I do that, huh?"

"Because it's the right thing to do and it hurts you to see a friend, or enemy, like that."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Watch him. Room with him. Talk to him. Eat with him. Socialize. Look after him. All the regular things you would do, just more purposeful."

"The purpose being…?" Peter let his challenge stand.

"Since Dr. Flanagan's unfortunate demise and that of several of my colleagues, I have become the staff member of highest seniority and experience. I am now in charge of the facility." He let that sink in for a moment. "However, I must still answer to those above my position. I am replaceable, like anyone else. A new research team has been moved into place. There are those that feel codling," he rolled his eyes, "known murderers is insane. I have been given the opportunity to 'fix' Gabriel Gray as it were, because he is useless without powers. I apologize for how heartless that sounds, but it's the truth. If we fail, he will be returned to a solitary cell and live out any remaining days in a non-responsive, deadened state. Is that what you want?"

"No."

"Good. There will be no escape attempts, agreed?"

"Yes."

Peter hated the situation, and worse, hated himself for agreeing to play along with it.

"Do you have any other questions?"

_Yeah, how the Hell did we get in this mess in the first place. _"What happens if – when – Gabriel's back to his normal self? You'll just throw him back to the wolves?"

Smoothing the cover of the dossier carefully, Henderson offered Peter a conciliatory smile.

"I do have more pull now as Facility Director, even if it is from the infirmary. I'll see what I can do. I know it's not what you want to hear-"

"-But it's better than nothing." Peter finished for him.

Henderson nodded. "I'm glad you understand." He offered his hand to Peter to shake. As the paramedic accepted and felt the clasp of the doctor's fingers around his own, he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

_That's the problem. I don't understand this at all…_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

So that was how Claire, Peter, Molly, and Gabriel ended up spending all their meals and free time together.

Peter was at Sylar's (or Gabriel, as Claire was reminded to call him by her uncle), side for every minute of the day, she was sure. Molly was acting like her long lost puppy had finally come home and could only be separated from him at bed time or when Peter announced they were going to take care of "man business." The younger girl kept touching her former cellmate as if he might disappear at any moment, much to the unspoken displeasure of her adoptive fathers. And Claire, well, she was really only close to her uncle and roommate so she _had _to join them.

Right? Right.

Currently, they were "enjoying" the afternoon recreation period. Peter had arrived an hour after he had left on _that day_ and promptly filled them in on his meeting with the enigmatic Dr. Henderson. He didn't seem outright evil to Claire, but no one was to be trusted on the other side. Peter explained the importance of acting as absolutely normal as possible to encourage improvement in Sylar. Gabriel.

That was a week ago. So here they were. Molly and Peter were playing checkers while keeping up a lively debate on the merits of costumed crime fighting, occasionally asking Gabriel's opinion to no avail. Claire was trying very hard not to listen to the subject, finding it mildly horrifying. But that left her with him. She was on one end of the couch, feet curled underneath her bottom to take up as little space as possible. He was on the other end, placed in a casual posture by Peter. He hadn't moved since. Peter explained that was normal in this kind of situation. Gabriel was frozen, unaware of his surroundings – like a creepily realistic wax statue.

She glanced up over her crossword. Nope, he hadn't moved an inch.

Claire looked back down at the miniature black and white boxes. The clues might have been in Chinese for the attention she gave them. She peeked again. How was she supposed to act normal around someone that was completely _abnormal?_ There was nothing normal about their "relationship," if you could call it that, even before their incarceration.

"Claire?"

"Huh?" She nearly dropped the dog-eared book in alarm.

"Claire, I said why don't you say something to Gabriel? You're staring and it's kind of weird…"

Thank God. It was just Peter talking.

"Um, I don't really have anything to say. I was just thinking about a clue. Very hard."

"Oh. Okay then."

She buried her face in the musty smelling puzzle pages. How could Sylar be so irritating even when mute?

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire rubbed the crusty remnants of sleep from her eyes. While she didn't need to get the morning suppressant, she still had to get up at the same time as everybody else. According to Molly though, the newly introduced tablet form was an improvement over the injection. Yawning, she watched the specials file into the line by alphabetical order. Well, everybody except for one notable exception.

Peter and Sylar were at the back. Despite the early hour, her uncle was chatting away to an oblivious audience. Given that he had just gotten out of bed, Claire could almost pretend that the zombie-like movements of the second man were a side effect of just waking up. Except that he never did "wake up" even though November was now almost over…

Suddenly the floor was more interesting than the slowly moving queue.

After a few moments of shuffling steps and good natured grumbles, the soft sound of tinkling glass grabbed Claire's attention. A bottle of clear liquid had hit the tile floor and shattered. Its contents were slowly pooling around the trailing scrub bottoms of one Gabriel Gray.

"I'm sorry, it's just been a rush all morning; I got called in early to fill in for Sheila, and I just normally don't do the medications, I-I…" The nurse was babbling. Claire's curiosity was piqued. It was the same woman that blandly handed out her crossword every day. The regular early shift nurse was absent.

Peter, ever the professional, put a comforting palm on the nurse's shaking hand. "Don't worry, Gabe doesn't bite. I can do it though." Claire watched with amazement as he turned to his best friend and rolled up the long sleeved white undershirt under the standard blue scrub top (she was a little jealous and wondered if it was possible to get a long sleeved shirt too). Peter didn't bat an eyelash as he swiped alcohol across a stick-like bicep and promptly injected a double dose of the standard ability suppressant into the taunt flesh. Holding out a hand to the aide, he asked, "Do you have another vial of the ativan?" The nurse, obviously impressed with Peter's smooth manner, filled a second syringe with the liquid and passed it over. Peter administered it with equal efficiency as he had the first. Gabriel didn't even so much as flinch. Peter rolled down the wrinkled sleeve gently. "There you go buddy, hope that helps," He whispered softly.

Peter tugged his charge over to the wall, Molly trailing behind so they could all go to breakfast together (where Gabriel would just _sit)_. Claire focused on the door at the end of the hallway rather pointedly. "He needs the injection because he probably couldn't swallow the pill, or worse, might choke on it." Claire was sure that if she still had a sense of physical feeling, her face would be burning red. Was she really that obvious? "And the second syringe had drugs that might help fix the chemical imbalance contributing to, uh, this." Apparently she was.

"Oh."

"Yup."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Oh my God. It can't be." Claire couldn't believe her eyes.

"What is it?" Molly strained her neck to get a glimpse around Claire. They were in the lunch line. Peter was sitting at their end of the lunch table with a very silent, very much the same ex-watchmaker, despite the passage of time.

"Molly, they have chocolate milk. Chocolate milk!" Claire didn't even care if she sounded like an idiot right then. It would be the first time she'd be able to taste that sweet brown beverage in ages.

"Oh, yeah. That's great." Molly sounded much less enthused. Claire felt like a terrible person when she realized that the young teen gaze was directed towards their spot. She hadn't meant to give the kid false hope about Gabriel…

The girls collected their trays and one for Peter and went to their typical seats. The foursome sat slightly apart from the rest of their friends since, well, Gabriel Gray was not as welcome as the other three, even while catatonic. Today however, Mohinder was waving at Molly.

"Molly, could you join Matt and I today? We'd love to chat." His accented tone sounded neutral enough to Claire, but Molly rolled her eyes. Answering Claire's unspoken question, she whispered, "They think I need to spend some time away from you guys. They're worried I'm losing my innocence or whatever. See you in the rec room. Bye Gabe, Peter." Peter offered her a small wave as he swallowed a lump of squash.

"Did you notice that the food is getting better?" Peter's question was directed to the two of them, but predictably, only Claire answered.

"I did actually. I thought the introduction of foods other colors than beige was good, but getting chocolate milk is just awesome."

"I guess Henderson's trying to make it at least a little better here."

Claire nodded thoughtfully as she sipped her drink. "He seems like an improvement over that whacko Flanagan." She spared a glance at Gabriel. No reaction to the name of his tormentor.

Peter finished shoveling his lunch down in record time. "I gotta go actually Claire. I have another meeting with Henderson to talk about Gabe's therapy. Can you just sit here and talk then take him to rec with you?"

He was leaving her? Leaving her alone with Sylar?

"Wait! Peter-!"

"Play nice you two." Peter was already leaving with an orderly Claire hadn't seen enter the room. Now she was left to lunch with her worst enemy. Great.

"So…" His glassy eyed stare never wavered from the table top.

"Hello."

No response.

"How are you?"

No response.

"Do you like chocolate milk?"

No response.

"I hate you."

No response.

This was frustrating. Claire didn't know how Peter did it. How he kept up a steady stream of conversation all day long with someone who looked like he wasn't even hearing a thing was a mystery.

"I think your eyebrows look like big, hairy caterpillars."

No response.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Eventually, talking to Gabriel got easier for Claire. After she reported how their "conversation" had gone, and after he stopped laughing at her feeble attempts, he sobered up and recommended that she just pretend he was an excellent listener.

"Actually, if he was himself right now, you'd find that Gabe really is a good sounding board."

It wasn't as hard as Claire initially thought it would be at all. At first she talked about silly things, like her favorite color, why she liked pumpkin pie but not squash (they might both be root vegetables, but they weren't the same at all!), just unimportant whims that popped into her mind.

As the weeks wore on though, she found that Peter's enforced "Claire and Gabriel alone time" flew by. Peter, always meaning well even if he was a little misguided at times, decided that since Gabriel had a "fondness" for her, it might be to his benefit if they spent some time together. Evening rec quiet time became "their" time. She went along with it because her uncle looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown of his own if she didn't agree, and out of curiosity, Claire forged a strange friendship with the enemy. She shared her regrets of the past and her hopes for the future, how much she missed her family, her wish to be able to feel pain.

"I know you'd probably disagree, being through everything that you have, but I'd just love to be in agony one more time. Then I'd know if I were still really human. I guess I'm a freak too, huh?"

Claire's admissions of guilt, worry, and fear made her feel oddly close to her silent companion. Even though he never said anything back, her verbalizations helped Claire examine her own thoughts and feelings. She had to wonder too what he would say if he could… For the first time since they met, Claire was starting to feel comfortable around Gabriel.

"…So I'm not really sure if I should double major or do joint honors. I wonder what you would have studied in college if you could. Did you go to post-secondary school? Is there like a special program for homicidal watchmakers?"

No answer, but that was okay for now. They were on the couch in the rec room. Claire was on the middle cushion, Gabriel on the end. Peter was dozing lightly on the floor. Molly was resting her head against Gabriel's knees while she read a book. The entertainment had improved at the facility as well as the food.

"No, he didn't. And I don't think there is."

Claire slid off the couch onto the tile next to Molly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. And I wasn't eavesdropping." Molly's blue eyes held a spark of mischief.

"That's okay. I don't think he was going to answer anyway."

Both girls looked at each other and burst into giggles.

Claire caught herself first. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. This isn't funny at all-"

"-But imagine if out of nowhere Gabe suddenly said, 'well, actually…' and continued the conversation like nothing happened." Molly finished for her.

"Yeah," Claire whispered, "That would be pretty weird."

The two girls sat in silence. Molly rested her small head on Claire's shoulder. "I wish he would though."

Claire secretly agreed. Out loud she said, "He doesn't even feel like the same person, like this."

"I know."

Molly had her own time with Gabriel too, mornings mostly. Peter was always present, but afternoons were his one-on-one time. During the day, both men would sometimes disappear. Peter said they had to go to the infirmary to see Dr. Henderson for therapy. Their combined efforts didn't seem to be doing much good though.

The bell rang signifying the first warning for lights out. Molly pulled Peter to his feet. While no one was looking, Claire's dainty hand darted out to squeeze Gabriel's long fingers.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The notches in the plaster underneath Claire's bed told her it was almost Christmas. The rest of the building still looked the same, however. Holly and garland were apparently not regulation in prison. Ready especially early that morning, Claire bounded over to the men's ward. There wasn't really anything to be excited about, but just knowing it was that special time of the year, (even if it was going to be spent under lock and key) was enough to put an extra spring in her step.

Claire knocked, but didn't wait to enter Peter and Gabriel's shared room. It looked exactly like hers and Molly's except that one of the iron-framed beds had dangling restraints. As per her usual routine, she flopped onto said bed. Its occupant was sitting with legs hanging over the side, gazing dispassionately over her uncle's shoulder.

"Did you notice that there's not as much supervision lately? I mean, we're still watched and everything, but no one seems to care that I just walked myself over here every day for the past couple weeks."

Peter looked mildly annoyed. He was in the process of dressing Gabriel. As he pulled the blue v-necked top over his roommate's head he shot her a glare. "Well, they're probably not that concerned with you wandering around. What are you going to do, bleed on them?"

Claire felt like she had been slapped. "Of course not, asshole. I was just making an observation."

Peter sighed. "I'm sorry Claire. That was a horrible thing of me to say. I'm just, really frustrated with this!" He gripped his hair in aggravation. "I'm supposed to be fixing Gabriel and instead, I'm, I'm-"his voice sounded choked up. Claire knelt on the floor next to her uncle.

"You're doing your best Peter. That's all anyone can ask for. And don't worry about it. We all wish things were different."

Peter's moist eyes met hers. "Wishing isn't going to help. If Gabe's not back to himself, he'll be taken away to solitary again. Then it'll be too late."

"What?" That was news to Claire. "What do you know that the rest of us don't Peter?"

Her uncle swiped the back of his hand over his eyes and grabbed Gabriel's sling off the bed. Gingerly, he placed the fiberglass casted arm (from thumb to two inches below the shoulder) into the material. "I made a deal with Henderson that very first meeting. I promised no escape attempts or anything like that in exchange for the opportunity to try and revive Gabe. That's why they're not as concerned as they were before."

"Oh," Claire breathed softly. "Peter, you can't blame yourself."

"Did you know that if someone remains in a catatonic state for too long they can die? Or that the longer a person is like this, the harder it is to snap them out of it? It's been more than six weeks. Plus, he's way lighter than he should be, even with nightly IV's…" Peter snapped the buckle into place. "I'm really worried Claire."

"Peter, you're not dealing with this alone. Molly and I are here for you too. Why don't you go to the bathroom or whatever and get in line for breakfast. I'll take him."

Peter rubbed his palms into his eye sockets. "Okay. I think I can do that. Thanks for putting up with me, Claire."

She grabbed her uncle into a hug characteristic of their Italian heritage. "Hey, that's what family's for."

As he stumbled out of the dorm tiredly, Claire shook her head. Something had to change.

Grabbing a comb, (another amenity recently allowed), off the shared dresser stuffed with identical inmate outfits, Claire began to work out the knots in Gabriel's thick hair.

"You know, that shaved prison 'no-hair' look really wasn't very good on you. You're lucky that they let you grow your hair back." Since she was alone, and he wasn't going to tell anyone, Claire ran a hand through the dark wavy locks. The soft bedhead was just long enough to spike in the front if they had been given any gel. "But please, don't ever slick it back with the jar of oil or whatever gunk you seem to love so much."

Gabriel Gray offered no argument.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Molly and Claire were taking turns braiding each other's hair later the same day. It was almost lights out, but the two girls were deep in conversation.

"So Peter just freaked out?"

"Yup." Claire snapped a hair elastic onto the tail of Molly's braid and repositioned to receive her own 'do.

"It is almost Christmas – the time of year that miracles happen. Maybe we'll be lucky."

Claire worried her bottom lip. "Maybe. It doesn't seem likely though."

Molly finished arranging Claire's honey colored tresses. "Have a little faith. 'Tis the season and all that."

"Yeah." The lights flicked off. Claire stared into the black. "I hope so."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

It was Christmas Eve and Claire couldn't help herself. She really hoped Molly was right. She was sitting alone in Peter and Gabriel's room staring at the potential miracle in question.

"Come on, come on…" So far there had been no change. Claire was too old for Santa, but the little girl inside her was holding out for a fully functional Gabriel Gray.

"You need to be normal again. Or at least as normal as you were before this happened." Claire conceded. She fiddled with the simple gold heart around her neck. As an early Christmas present, the prisoners were all given a personal item (nothing that could be used for dangerous purposes of course) taken from them during the initial processing. Though not really a gift, it was at least a small concession to the inmates. Claire was handed back her necklace given to her by Noah Bennet, her adoptive father, then re-gifted again by Nathan in Mexico.

She dropped her hand to the object sitting in her lap. She had asked Peter for some alone time with his charge to give him his gift. In Claire's mind, it was the one thing that might bring the obnoxiously smug man back.

"I don't know why you would wear this…it's broken and you told Peter you didn't want to be called by the name anymore…Maybe someday you'll tell me why it's so important."

Claire dangled the object in plain view of Gabriel's blank stare. It was an offensive item in her mind, but obviously held some meaning to the former villain.

The watch face glinted under the fluorescent lighting.

_Sylar_

Without further ceremony, Claire buckled it onto his wrist not covered with a cast.

And she waited.

Nothing happened.

Claire held her breath. Wasn't this supposed to be it? According to every tale of Christmas magic, this is where Gabriel should suddenly come to life.

But he remained the same.

Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Claire didn't want to be disappointed, but she was.

"You-you-jerk! You never do what anyone wants! I hate you!"

Claire shoved Gabriel hard. It felt good. After a solid five minutes of pummeling the stationary man and venting her emotions, she regained her senses.

"Oh my God. I am so sorry." She choked back a sob. Peter was going to be so pissed when he saw what she had done. All the bruises had faded and then she went and gave his best friend what promised to be a swollen black eye.

She repeated, "Sorry." She gave him a hug. A real honest-to-goodness-Petrelli-squeezer.

Claire rested her chin against Gabriel's collarbone. She took a deep breath. Life would go on. She could do this.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The next morning, she was in her customary place at the headboard of the infamous Gabriel Grays's bed. If she had been told that's where she'd be a year from last Christmas, she'd have never believed it. But there she was.

"Lyle was so confused. He just kept asking, but how does he get in if we don't have a chimney?"

Molly and Peter were clutching each other in fits of laughter.

"So Dad says, 'Well son, that's why some families have problems with their indoor plumbing – Santa squeezes in through the water mains and out of the tub.' We had just had the plumber there the week before for leaky pipes." Claire started giggling too. "Anytime after that for the next year, if there was so much as a creak from the pipes or a dripping faucet, Lyle was sure Santa was paying us an extra visit. Dad would play along and would leave us candy and small trinkets every time. It was fun except when Mr. Muggles would find them first and get sick from pigging out."

The three friends dissolved into wheezes and gasps imagining Claire's badass father try to pacify a ten year old while getting thwarted by the Pomeranian.

"That dog is smarter than it looks."

The room went silent as if all the air had been sucked out in one sudden gust.

"Gabriel?" Peter's plaintive question held the disbelief and hope of all three shocked listeners.

Gabriel cleared his throat and winced. "Yeah?" He blinked confusedly at the six astonished eyes staring back.

He shook his head slowly as if to clear his thoughts. "Why are you…? Wait, where am I? What…?

Peter jumped on him before Gabriel could finish his train of thought. Careful to avoid jostling his broken arm, the empathetic man began to sob in earnest.

Still looking bewildered and a little dazed, Gabriel began to cry too. "Peter? Is this real?"

"Yeah, yeah it is." Claire didn't think either man heard her soft assurance. She squeezed Molly's hand and wiped away a tear of her own.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone!


	12. Trust

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works… also for this chapter, I do not own "Dr. Phil" **

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live."

**Johann Wolfgang von Goethe**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"That dog is smarter than it looks."

_Wait, did I say that? _Gabriel Gray was vaguely aware of the words leaving his mouth. _"It's true though,"_ a small voice argued inwardly. Even the dog had noticed he was bad news before Mrs. Bennet did.

_Wait. What? _

Gabriel was very confused. His head felt like it was full of cotton, which was to say nothing for the dried out sensation in his mouth.

"Gabriel?"

_Huh? _Someone was calling his name. His real name. He answered automatically, "Yeah?" Why did his throat feel like it was laced with broken glass? It felt like he hadn't spoken in years...but wasn't he just screaming at Flanagan to get away from him?

Trying to clear his muddled thoughts, the wary man shook his head from side to side. While not dissipating the mental fog a great deal, the action did give Gabriel a chance to locate the voice. It was his roommate? Peter? Molly Walker was sitting on the floor in a trance. But they weren't in their cell. Claire Bennet looked dumbfounded. Wait, more importantly, Claire Bennet was curled up next to him on…a bed? _WHAT?_

"Why are you…? Wait, where am I? What…?" This situation was very, very strange. Worse, Gabriel felt like his body and mind were completely separated. He could feel the vibrations in his disused throat as he spoke, but his voice sounded like it was coming from someone else. It was very disconcerting. Why couldn't he form even a semi-coherent sentence? And why was Claire Bennet not running away from him in terror or revulsion?

Someone was on top of him. They were touching him. A spark of fear flared in his stomach. Fortunately, the adrenalin also cleared his senses somewhat. The weight pressing into his chest was Peter. Peter was hugging him. Peter was crying. Peter looked like he was trying to avoid hurting his…broken arm? _When did that happen? _A flash of memory, Agent Jackass kneeling on his back, sent bile rising to his throat. The image was gone as soon as it came. It was so hard to focus…_ Why is Peter upset?_ He was emotional, sure, but not prone to sobbing. A weight lifted off the bed. Claire had joined Molly and was tugging the other girl to her feet. _Why is there a bed? Why are there so many people here? What's going on? _

"Peter? Is this real?"

His face felt wet. _Now I'M crying? _

Claire was saying something, but it was indistinguishable over the wet gasping noises…coming from him and Peter. But mostly from him. Gabriel felt like he was suffocating.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to figure this out, there was an ache in his chest that begged for the "why" and "how".

_I don't understand! _

Most of all, Gabriel Gray wanted to know what the hell happened to him.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire snapped into action and tugged Molly by the hand out the door. Shutting it firmly behind her, the older teen ran a hand through her curly hair. This was not good. Well, it was good, but, at the same time was decidedly _bad. _

"Hey! Why'd we have to leave?" Molly was no longer transfixed by the shocking reanimation of Gabriel Gray and just sounded pissed.

"We need to get Henderson down here _now_, before Sylar snaps back into…the way he was for the past month and a half." The blond marched ahead, hoping Molly wouldn't catch on to the other, more selfish reason for her departure. Or that the fourteen year old would go back into the dorm and start regaling the _very awake_ man with tales of a chatty, not typically aloof cheerleader.

"Since when is Gabriel 'Sylar' again, and why do you look like you forgot to write a term paper due in ten minutes?"

Dammit. The kid was perceptive.

"I don't look like anything, first of all, and secondly, I don't know who that guy in there is going to start acting like." Why was it suddenly so hard to find a guard when it seemed like every other day they were everywhere you didn't want them to be?

"Claire, slow down!" The kid was strong too. Claire found herself yanked back to face a very confused and angry roommate. Molly looked ready to spit nails. "Claire, what is your problem? Last night you were all upset that Gabriel wasn't talking, even after you gave him back the watch."

Claire shuffled her white sneakers on the spot.

"-And now you're pale and look completely horrified, like-like you don't want to be anywhere near a talking, walking, _responsive_-" Understanding struck the younger girl. "That's it isn't it? It was safe to talk to a guy you knew wasn't going to say anything back. It's easy to be friends with someone who's not going to disappoint you by saying something you don't want to hear."

Claire opened her mouth. She promptly shut it. Was she really that transparent?

"Thanks Dr. Phil, but I need to get a doctor down here before something bad happens. Do you really want to have _him_ freak out, or explode, or-or something because he's confused, or upset, or-" Claire shook her head. It was better not to get carried away. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Molly, I know you want a romance or whatever," Molly looked like she was about to add something to that effect, "-But now is not the time." Claire resumed her hunt.

They were out of the men's ward by now and in the main hallway. The corridor was beginning to fill with inmates wishing each other a Merry Christmas and lining up for the morning suppressant.

"Okay Claire. We'll talk about it later then." Claire chose not to respond in the affirmative. Before she made any grand pronouncements, she had to get over the shock of the situation.

The two girls scanned the area in silence.

"There!" Claire looked in the direction Molly was pointing. Sure enough, an orderly rubbing his eyes tiredly with one fist was herding the queue with his free hand. The roommates ran over, pushing sleepy well-wishers out of the way as they went.

"Hey, I need your walkie-talkie!" Claire's words sounded as frantic as she felt. The man eyed her disbelievingly.

Molly leaned in, her small frame seeming to take up more space than it should have physically. "She's serious, hand it over!"

He looked between the two stressed teenage girls. "And why would I do that?"

"Because I need to talk to Dr. Henderson NOW and tell him that his patient Gabriel Gray, aka the murdering psycho Sylar, is awake and talking before something very bad happens! Do you want to be responsible for that?"

The silence that met Claire's ears was deafening. Apparently, her request had turned into an impassioned holler. Every occupant of the crowded corridor was staring at the threesome.

"Please." She whispered with equal parts embarrassment and urgency.

The stunned guard handed over the communication device.

"Press the green button to talk."

So she did.

"Hi, this is Claire."

That didn't sound as mature as she hoped it would. There was no answer.

Molly tugged Claire's short sleeve and whispered, "What if he's not there? It _is_ Christmas. He might be on holiday; what'll we do then?"

Claire pursed her lips. Having a Company Man father had taught her a few things about the business of Specials' imprisonment.

"Doesn't matter, he'll be in his office."

She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Come in, Henderson. Hello?"

"Hello? Claire Bennet? How did you get this walkie-talkie?"

The young woman felt like the entire facility was hanging on her every word.

"The guard gave it to me. Listen, you need to get down here. Gabriel's awake, but he and Peter are kind of freaking out."

"Where?"

"Their room."

"On my way. Thank you Claire."

Claire handed the device back to its owner.

She turned around to meet multiple stares.

Gathering strength she didn't think she had left, Claire glared back. "What? Get on with your day. It's none of your business. Merry Christmas."

Molly snickered. "Right Claire. You don't care at all about Gabe. Sure."

Claire rolled her eyes and gently pushed her imaginative roommate towards the once-again moving line-up.

"That's right I don't. Get going, kid."

Now if only she could convince her pounding heart of that fact…

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was crunching her way through some lunchtime carrot sticks when Peter finally reappeared. There was something missing though…

"Where's Gabriel?" Molly took the words right out of Claire's mouth.

Peter sagged into the empty chair on the other side of the table. Claire pushed her tray towards him amicably.

"Sleeping."

Claire's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Really?" She didn't think that Gabriel's newfound alertness would extend to high impact activities, but slumber was a step back than she expected.

Peter didn't seem to share her confusion. He began to thoughtfully chew on the uneaten half of her bologna sandwich. "Well, he had a lot to absorb all at once." Swallowing, he continued, "Gabe was still really lethargic and confused even though he was cognizant. It's not like in the movies where someone just suddenly becomes themselves again after catatonia or coma."

Molly interjected, "So is he alone?"

Peter shook his head. "No. Henderson came right after you guys called. He planned on taking Gabe back to the infirmary to monitor his vitals, but the poor guy was almost totally asleep after answering basic questions to determine his alertness. You know, like his name and age. Henderson agreed that it was probably best to just leave him be and said he'd watch until supper."

How could Claire ask this subtly? "So, how confused was he?"

Peter wiped his mouth after slurping her milk. "Whadya mean?" Claire noticed he seemed more relaxed at least.

Molly waggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Claire wants to know if Gabriel remembers all the secrets she spilled to him or that she actually cared about whether he lived or died. Ouch!"

Claire hoped the kick in the shin she just delivered hurt.

Peter smiled slightly before sobering. "No. He doesn't. Last he was aware, there was a team of research-hungry scientists waiting to slice and dice. He was vaguely aware of killing them, but said it seemed like a dream or hallucination. We had a hard time getting Gabe to believe that the current situation was actually real." He let that sink in while he polished off the triangle of meat and bread.

Claire furrowed her brow. "Well, what is 'the current situation'? Can we keep him?" She blushed when she realized how that sounded. Thankfully, Peter chose not to comment.

"Yup. For now at least." He let out his first grin in months, "Henderson says that the board won't convene until a few days at least since it's the holidays. Plus, he can argue later that Gabriel's condition needed to stabilize before making any big changes. So for now, he stays."

Molly let out a whoop of celebration and promptly hugged Peter. Claire found herself smiling too. However, the pit in her stomach anchored any joy she might have felt.

Shouldn't Gabriel's absence of memory be a good thing? Claire felt like she had just lost a very dear friend.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Although it was Christmas, the day progressed as usual. Well, except that it went by exceedingly slow in Claire's opinion. The crossword on her lap couldn't have been the least bit interesting as the minutes trickled by until the supper hour. There were books she could have been reading, but Claire preferred her old standby. At least with a crossword she could pretend that her stay at Blackburn could be over soon. Starting a _book,_ now, that would imply a belief that she'd have lots of time to finish it. Claire didn't want to be there that long.

After an agonizing afternoon of fidgeting and nail biting, it was _finally_ time. She waiting impatiently in line with the standard brown meal tray when the moment she'd been both dreading and anticipating arrived.

"Um, can I eat?" Claire barely heard the uncertain question, but she was listening for his voice. She swiveled in line.

Gabriel Gray was clenching and unclenching his free fingers in the fabric of his scrub bottoms where the pockets would have been if they were designed that way. His mumbled question was directed to the accompanying physician. Henderson caught Peter's eye and nodded. "Yes. Go meet Peter in line." His tone was patient slow, not unlike how one would talk to a young child. The doctor exited as the room became alive with gossip and indiscrete glances.

Ignoring the attention, Gabriel awkwardly stepped his way to Peter's side almost directly behind Claire. Uncertain of the correct protocol in such a scenario, Claire accepted her plate of vegetables and celebratory gray chicken / turkey / tofu and went to her regular seat.

Claire was shortly joined by her three regular companions. If she was unimpressed by the meat from a can Christmas dinner, she couldn't imagine how Gabriel felt; he had a bowl of paste. In all fairness, it might have been oatmeal or shredded wheat, but it just looked like a slowly congealing concrete. Fascinated, she observed him slowly spoon the mixture into his mouth with the hand not bound in a cast. He closed his eyes as he swallowed on each slurp of the gloop.

Claire looked over at Molly who likewise was staring. Their eyes met. A silent understanding between the two affirmed that neither was really sure what to say now that they had the chance. Molly shifted on the bench.

"Gabe, do you want some of my…" she turned over the meat with her fork discriminately, "turkey? It sucks that they stuck you with that slop, but we can share?"

Peter shook his head but didn't take his eyes of his plate. He very pointedly focused on his mashed potatoes. "That's kind of you to offer Molly, but Gabriel can't share. He needs to eat a pretty bland diet for a while."

The person in question paused with spoon in midair. "Apparently I'd throw up real food."

Claire chewed her peas.

"Because I haven't eaten solid food in almost a year."

She might have been chewing the inside of her cheek for all she knew.

"So my digestive system just can't handle it."

Peter cleared his throat. "Thanks Gabriel, but TMI. Eat your porridge, please."

Claire placed her fork down. "Actually, I was wondering that. So thanks for filling us in."

Peter was looking at her like she had grown three heads. "What? I'm serious…" She went back to her meal. Apparently her effort at pleasantry didn't come off quite as well as intended.

The weighty silence returned.

Peter crumpled his napkin. "So, did you have any questions for any of us Gabriel?"

Claire took the slight shake of the tousled head to be a no. So did Peter, and judging from his pained expression, he felt bad for reprimanding Gabriel. He didn't mean to sound harsh. Claire gently nudged her uncle's foot and offered him a small, sympathetic smile.

Peter began chatting about Christmases past to ease the tension. Pretty soon, the girls were making their own efforts at stilted conversation. The meal was over before Claire knew it had hardly begun.

As per her usual routine, she grabbed her tray in one hand crossed to the other side of the table. Dexterously, she balanced the plastic and dishes on her hip. Her body was on autopilot as her thoughts whirred around the surprising events of the day. Without thinking, she did what she normally would on the way to Evening Rec.

She grabbed Gabriel by the hand to lead him along.

Except for this time, she met resistance.

The cutlery and dishes clanged to the floor as Claire was jerked to a halt. Gabriel hadn't intended for her to stumble, he just hadn't moved with her as he usually did. Instead of complacently rising to his feet, the man had remained sitting. Claire fell back into his lap as her plate spun a slow circle on the linoleum. Taken completely by surprise, Gabriel lost his balance on the end of the bench. The pair ended up in a heap on the floor.

So this was what utter mortification felt like.

Claire extricated herself with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances. She offered her hand this time, instead of just grabbing like she normally would. A walking, talking Gabriel was going to take some getting used to.

Brown eyes brimming with suspicion and mistrust gazed back.

"What are you doing?"

Claire felt her heart melt a little.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just grab like that. When you were…not yourself…we used to just pull you around. I wasn't thinking."

She wasn't the only one that looked embarrassed. Accepting her hand, Gabriel allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

"I didn't mean to. Sorry."

Claire was having a hard time hearing the nearly voiceless admissions from Gabriel, but she could definitely detect shame in there.

"No, it was my fault-"

"No, I-"

Molly pretended to cough.

Both stammering parties turned to the girl.

"Will we go to the Rec. Room then?" Claire recognized a lifeline when heard one and wasn't going to throw it away.

"Yeah, let's go."

Claire walked with her eyes forward and ignored the whispers around them. She was leading with Gabriel practically on her hem. If the stares made her feel awkward, she didn't want to imagine how he felt. The noise of their stumble had undoubtedly drawn unwanted attention.

The slight scuff of footsteps right behind her own gave her strength. She wasn't going to be intimidated by anyone or anything.

Passing the table from which they were exiled only gave Claire further oomph. She waved to Matt Parkman's narrowed glare.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The next few days were an adjustment, to say the least. Peter and Gabriel still disappeared for portions of the day. In fact, Claire was almost sure she saw the man less now than when he was catatonic. Peter had explained that Gabriel needed a lot of rest and was easily overwhelmed. That made sense to Claire. Seeing her former nemesis, and later…patient? Responsibility? Inanimate confidante? Whatever he had been, seeing Gabriel follow her uncle around like a baby duckling to its mother made it hard for Claire to whip up her past animosity in entirety. So, she was still able to sit at the same table for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with the man who played with her brain.

It was lunchtime on New Year's Eve, and Claire was not enraptured by her macaroni and cheese. While it was better than the pre-Henderson menu, it still tasted of mass production and confinement. Instead of focusing on the bowl of pasta, she discretely eyed Gabriel. He was slowly coming back to himself, and was almost always providing verbal responses to questions.

"Are you very hungry Gabe?"

"Not really."

That seemed to be an ongoing exchange between the roommates. Claire was sure they had it at every meal. She watched through her eyelashes as the darker headed man rubbed a spot on his stomach gingerly. From watching Peter dress Gabriel when he was catatonic, Claire was aware of the small feeding tube inserted into the wall of his stomach lining. Regrettably, not being able to feed himself had required the use of substitute nutritional formulas. After he had put his friend to bed the night before, Peter had explained to her optimistically that if Gabriel started eating enough, they would be able to remove it. But until then, it was both.

"Soon," Peter whispered. Gabriel moved his hand away and picked up his spoon.

Claire cleared her throat slightly. "What kind of soup is that?"

Grimacing slightly after putting the half-spoonful of liquid in his mouth (Claire was secretly pleased to note that it was day seven, and facial expressions seemed to be coming more naturally), Gabriel intoned, "I'm not sure. Could be anything really."

Peter smiled encouragingly at the two sentence response. "Did you have any questions for any of us, Gabriel?"

Still eating his supper with precision and effort, the other man didn't answer right away. At length he responded, "The last time I was beaten up by someone on staff was over a month ago."

Peter nodded slowly. Probably, like Claire, he had no idea where the conversation was headed.

"Yes."

"And um, Jackson, uh, was in the infirmary, and then went back on duty in the other building."

"Yes."

"S-so, um I…" Claire didn't remember the serial killer ever stuttering. His odd cadence of rushed and halted syntax was even more pronounced than usual too.

"I was uh, just wondering how I got the black eye?"

Claire was honest to God choking on her chocolate milk.

"I mean, I can feel it. It's recent."

Molly was rubbing her back "helpfully," but Claire could tell it was a guise to distract from the fact she was shaking from stifled giggles.

"_Of all things, why would Gabriel Gray ask about a black eye?"_ Claire dreaded explaining that in a fit of passion, she had given it to him.

Luckily, she was saved by the bell signifying the end of lunch and the beginning of rec. Peter was spouting off some excuse, but Claire hardly heard him as allowed herself to get caught up in the line moving towards the door.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A week into the New Year (not that anything changed), she was sitting on her customary couch cushion, attempting to fill out the "Flora of the South Western States" crossword. On the other end of the chesterfield was, of course, Gabriel. Judging from his deep, even breathing he was in a light doze. Ever since the Lunch of the Black Eye (as she mentally termed it), Claire had been waiting to be exposed. Any day now, Gabriel was going to remember, or Molly would let it slip, or… She sneaked a peek.

Like every other time she looked at his face, that bruise stared right back at her. The yellow skin encircled with green seemed to accuse her. She hadn't punched him lightly either. No, it was a real honest-to-goodness _deck_ that left a mark from the upper portion of his eye socket to the tip of his cheek. Dear God, had she hit him more than once? It was hard to remember. She had been just so upset with the situation and his unchanging state. The next day, he was awake and confused, so she couldn't say anything then, of course.

She couldn't take it anymore. Seeing his puppy-dog eyes every morning was torture. They held no malice towards her. That was the worst part! Claire was a lot of things, but a villain she was not. And she wanted, no _needed_ a clear conscience.

She nudged her victim in the thigh with her toes – gently though, so as not to inflict anymore injury. She felt even worse as Gabriel's entire body seemed to stiffen. He opened one eye. The one not still slightly swollen. Claire felt the knot in her stomach clench a little tighter.

"I did it."

He blinked slowly and shifted on the couch. He looked so young and vulnerable with his hair all mussed and sling snuggly in place…_Look away Claire! Look away!_

"I punched you."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"No. Not really."

"I'm that annoying even mute?"

Claire was about to answer in the negative when she looked up and realized Gabriel was struggling not to smirk. She was being teased.

"Yes, you really are."

With a feigned huff, she went back to her crossword. Claire pursed her lips and tried not to grin. _She _had gotten the first smile out of him. A small noise drew her attention. Alarmed, she tossed her book to the floor. _Oh my God – what if he's choking? Peter's off on some planning session with Henderson and Molly's with her dads. What will I do?_

Claire reached towards Gabriel but was hesitant to touch him. His face was turned away and she didn't want to scare the guy.

"Hey…you!" She hoped that got his attention.

Gabriel turned his face towards her. His lips were slightly twitching, but that was the only anomaly on his otherwise serious face. As soon as the ex-killer caught her eye, however, he couldn't keep it together.

Gabriel burst out laughing. Not loudly or for very long, but genuinely all the same.

Claire grabbed the pillow she had been leaning against and tossed it at him good-naturedly. "Ass. I was worried about you!" Her words were softened by the giggles she couldn't quite suppress.

"Were you?" He tossed the pillow back, hitting her in the side of the head. "Oops…"

"Well, I _was_. Past tense!"

Claire tried to sound serious and disapproving.

She failed miserably.

The giggles got a hold of the two of them just as they were winding down. There wasn't really anything overly hilarious, but the moment was exactly what the two of them needed.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N: Shameless Self Promotion: I wrote a Christmas fic. A oneshot. So, feel free to check it out (you can get to it from my profile) and don't hesitate to review! :D


	13. Courage

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"You have to accept whatever comes and the only important thing is that you meet it with courage and with the best that you have to give."

~Eleanor Roosevelt

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was not happy. In fact, she was downright pissed.

The petite blond stomped through the corridor leading away from her and Molly's bedroom.

The force of her footsteps was great enough that her untamed curls were bouncing up and down with the rhythm of her anger-fueled body. _Goddamn prison. Goddamn lack of privacy. Goddamn lack of hair-straighteners! _Claire grabbed one of the offensive locks hanging directly over her right eye and twisted ruthlessly until she had a ringlet in the palm of her hand. She launched it toward a garbage can as she rounded the corner to the men's ward.

It wasn't her hair that was the problem today though. No, it was having to share a bedroom with a fourteen-year-old and all that implied. Claire had left the closest thing she ever had to a sister behind two hallways ago to avoid having a major meltdown in front of the girl. Trying to keep a lid on her-her _rage_ would have been impossible had she stayed with Molly, so she followed her feet to the next safe place: Peter and Gabriel's room.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaargh! I hate my life!"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel Gray thought he might have a heart attack as five-feet two inches of emotional woman landed on his bed. Luckily, he had already vacated the space before Claire Bennet threw herself upon the sheets he had yet to arrange.

Standing awkwardly by the dresser drawers he and Peter shared, Gabriel tried to process the situation and his role in it.

Claire was upset. That much was clear from her explosive entrance. But what did that mean; she hated her "life?" She hated the act of living, like breathing? She hated something in her life? The second seemed more likely. What was it she hated; there were a lot of options to pick from: imprisonment, unpleasant food, the monotony of daily life inside? Worst of all, did she hate her life because he was recently forced into it? Gabriel furrowed his brows. The last choice seemed most likely, but was also the least desirable. His eyes darted nervously towards the door and back to the guest laying face down on his cot. Peter had gone to relieve himself but was coming back to help him navigate his shirt over the constantly irksome cast still encasing his arm. Soon, Gabriel hoped.

Claire let out what might have been a string of expletives or prayers. Gabriel wasn't really experienced with…whatever madness had seized Claire…to know what was happening or how he should deal with it. She had his pillow captive and was fisting it hard enough on either end that her knuckles were turning white. And…screaming into it? He'd need that tonight...

"Uh…Claire? I think Peter should be back soon. I can, um, leave if you want some privacy."

Claire lifted her face about an inch from his lumpy gray pillow. It looked wet.

"I-don't-want-goddamn-Peter-the-goddamn-saint-to-tell-me-to-play-goddamn-nice-with-goddamn-Molly!" Down her face went again.

"Okay." Gabriel shifted from one foot to the other. He was glad he had pulled on his pants before Claire arrived. The unisex nightshirt he and everyone else wore to bed would just have made the situation even more uncomfortable than it already was. What should his next move be? As Sylar he was smooth and suave. As Gabriel he was uncertain and shy. He didn't think Claire would be comforted by his darker persona.

Cautiously, he took a step towards the bed. "Do you, uh, want to talk about it?" Women liked to talk about their feelings and for men to listen, right? His experience with women was, regrettably, rather limited; experience with crazy women even less so. _Wait, actually, there was Elle, and Maya, Angela when she was pretending to be Mom, and well, Mom…_ Gabriel gave himself a mental shake. He wasn't going to lump Claire in with them.

"I can't take it anymore! Molly borrowed my shirt this morning, the long-sleeved one, without even asking –" Claire _had_ seemed excited when the item was added to their wardrobe of uniforms. Personally, he hadn't really cared. Clothes were clothes, and he was just glad to be wearing some after months of nakedness or rags. "She stole it and didn't even understand why I was annoyed –" The only reason why he had a long sleeved tee under the standard scrub top to begin with was something about keeping him warm and covering needle tracks. Something … Henderson said at the time. It was the twenty-fourth day since his "awakening" and the first few days were hazy at best. "-and I'm so tired of it –" Apparently some of the other inmates must have requested the addition of the style after seeing he had one. Ha. For the first time in his life, Gabriel Gray was a trend-setter. "I just can't deal with this!"

Claire had stopped talking. What was he supposed to do now? Cautiously, he perched next to the young woman and extended his free forearm. His fingers twitched, retreating towards his palm before straightening. Gingerly, he patted her back twice.

"There…there."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire felt somewhat calmer after relating the tale of how Molly raided her drawer. Unfortunately, as often happens in the aftermath of emotional diffusion, clarity set in. She had freaked out over a prison uniform, thrown herself on her ex-arch enemy's bed, and pitched a temper tantrum, in front of said ex-arch enemy.

Well, now she felt silly.

Claire took a deep breath and propped herself up on her elbows. Gabriel was regarding her as one might when confronted by a jungle animal – with caution and thinly veiled fear.

"I'm sorry for dumping on you like that."

He was still looking at her like she might detonate at any moment. Some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders though.

Gabriel looked down at the mattress rather than her face. "That's okay. I don't mind. It's healthy to get things off your chest once in awhile." He sounded like he couldn't get the words out of his mouth fast enough.

Claire sighed and spoke with less fervor than she had during her rant. "I dunno. I guess this place is getting to me. Molly snagged my shirt and it really pissed me off. But that's not what's bothering me. Well, not the only thing. It's just…it seems like we've been here so long that sometimes I forget what it was like, before. Getting mad because my roommate stole my shirt shouldn't be my main concern in life; getting out should be. I feel like this place is getting inside of me and eventually I'll forget about life outside." It was her turn to look away.

"Hey." Gabriel laid his hand just above her elbow. "That's just your brain trying to keep you sane. It's good not to get too comfortable, but sometimes you have to live in the moment to survive." Claire glanced up to meet his gaze. There was a glimmer of ferocity in the depths of his dark orbs that they had been lacking of late. "I get it. But Claire, never forget that there is a way out and that we're going to find it."

They stayed like that for a moment, frozen in an unspoken pact.

Claire broke the tension first. "Sorry I busted in here like that. You were probably busy." She stood and smoothed the sheets.

"Not really. Just getting dressed. Peter was coming back to help, but I think he may have fallen into the toilet."

Claire snickered. "More likely he's gazing into a mirror, trying to do something with that hair."

The corners of Gabriel's mouth quirked upward in mirth. "Poor Peter. I make fun of that 'goddamned saint' enough as it is without you joining in." Claire smacked him lightly on the arm as she recognized her own expression from only minutes before.

"Well, wherever he is, he's too slow. I'll help."

Claire turned away to grab the clothes already laid out on the top of the dresser. When she turned back, Gabriel hadn't moved an inch. A cross between a grimace and a scowl occupied his face.

The smaller figure of the pair marched over to the bed and started yanking the nightshirt over Gabriel's reddened ears. "There's no point being embarrassed. I'm almost twenty and I just had a total meltdown on an older guy's bed. Uninvited. Plus, I've done this for you before, you just don't remember."

A muffled grunt rumbled within the bunched up fabric.

"Sorry, didn't catch that." Claire finally succeeded in releasing Gabriel from the garment.

"I said at least take my long-sleeved shirt for your trouble then." All things considering, Claire was impressed that he only sounded mildly miffed.

"I can't do that!" She held out the item of discussion for her foe to stick his arms in.

Gabriel pushed the white shirt back. "Sure you can. We all wear the same clothes. It's not like anyone's going to notice. Plus, it's probably a similar size to your own, since everything is the baggy unisex fit and I'm not Parkman-sized."

Claire contemplated the offer. It seemed fair. By sharing, Gabriel wouldn't feel like he was getting without giving anything in return. She would get to wear the shirt she wanted. Some things just weren't worth fighting over. That was the rationale she used, anyway.

"Fine. Thanks." She tossed the item on the side of the bed casually. Swapping the shirt out for the scrub top, Claire helped Gabriel maneuver his cast in first, then the other arm. The ex-cheerleader had ample time to examine the two prominent scars on his physique. Her stolen gift must have erased any he might have gained in the facility, but the raised pink lines on the watchmaker-cum-killer's torso and back were from before their imprisonment. Judging from the placement…they probably were the result of _the_ samurai sword attack. Claire pushed Kirby Plaza from her mind and refrained from commenting. Gabriel was dressed.

Now it was her turn.

"Close your eyes."

For a guy who was supposed to be so smart, Gabriel looked pretty clueless.

"I'm not walking all the way back to my room to get changed. Close your eyes and I'll do it here."

Just in case, Claire turned around anyway. She hoped to GOD that man didn't open his eyes and get a glimpse of her in the regulation shapeless sports bra. That would just be too much.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_I will not look. I will NOT look. I WILL NOT LOOK. _

After what seemed like an eternity, but was actually only five-point-oh-four-three seconds, Gabriel felt a tap on his shoulder. Claire was fully dressed and giving him a small smile. "Let's go." She had a special tone just for him – vanilla ice-cream: a chill that was tempered by the sweetness sliding over lips and tongue…

Keeping his illogical thoughts to himself, Gabriel ambled out the door behind Claire. Even in prison wear, her hips still swayed from side to side, _just so._ Suddenly, he had a flash of insight. The young woman's hysterics made perfect sense. He had read all about it in one of those female magazines during his hunting days. What? Stalking prey could get boring…

"Claire." She paused, nodding he continue. "I just want you to know that I understand. It's perfectly normal to feel emotional during," Gabriel's voice fell to a conspiratorial hush, "_that time of the month._"

What he couldn't figure out was why she slapped her own forehead

"Claire, Menstruation is a biological imperative!"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Breakfast was the ordinary fare. The only notable exception was when Claire and Gabriel trooped in together. Obviously, Claire's white undershirt had to come from _somewhere_ and Gabriel wasn't wearing his. Molly refrained from commenting, not wanting to risk Claire's hormonal wrath a second time in the same morning. If her juice hadn't tipped over at supper the night before, the shirt wouldn't have been an issue to begin with.

"_Oh well," _Molly thought with an inward smile, "_some things are just meant to happen."_ If spilled fruit punch could pave the way to a truce, she was all for it.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Hey, can I borrow your pencil?"

Claire looked up from "Woodland Creatures: Real and Imaginary" with a skeptically raised eyebrow. A second too late she realized how characteristic the action was of the man posing the question.

"Why? Are you going to start filling out my crossword for me?" Claire's tone was teasing, not harsh.

"No." Gabriel rolled his eyes at her. "Just hand it over please." Claire_ supposed_ the miniature boxes could wait. She passed the stick of graphite over, only to have it practically snatched from her fingers. Gabriel promptly stuck it down the opening of the fiberglass cast just below his armpit. Claire bit her lip to avoid laughing right out loud at the happy sigh that escaped his lips as he began scratching at the dry skin underneath in earnest.

"Gabriel?"

"Mmmmmmm?"

"What are you doing?"

He opened a contentedly closed eyelid in her direction. "Do you really need to ask? I've had a cast on for two and a half months. The itch is excruciating."

The smile Claire offered was sympathetic. "When does that come off anyway?"

"Soon. My twelve weeks are almost up. Well, then I have to go for x-rays to see how the bones are healing, and then another one if needed. I should be okay though if the pins are doing their job right."

The only sound between them was the steady scratch of an HB No.2 against skin.

"Shit! No!"

Claire looked up from her clues. Gabriel was trying to fit his index and middle fingers into the small opening. Catching her eye, he sadly murmured, "I lost it."

She was about to scoot across the couch to see if anything could be done to retrieve the pencil, when the sound of a throat clearing drew her attention.

Dr. Henderson was in the doorway of the rec. room.

"I believe it's time all of you were off to group therapy?"

_Oh dear God. Not that again._ Claire was really over the whole sharing feelings crap. The biweekly sessions were not her idea of relief from the otherwise monotonous routine. Lucky Gabriel had so far missed out on them due to his and Peter's regular disappearances to the infirmary.

The specials filed out the door unenthusiastically. Claire wasn't the only one who'd rather eat double servings of leftover lasagna surprise than head off to group. She, Gabriel, Peter, and Molly dawdled until they were the only ones left. The doctor held up a palm to halt their departure. "You four. A moment please."

The quartet assembled before the outsider. Gabriel slouched against the arm of the couch, Peter slightly behind him on the right. Claire gravitated to just in front of Peter at Gabriel's elbow. Molly moved to his other side and took his free hand in her own. Whatever the facility director was going to throw at them, they were ready.

"It's time for the Board to decide what's going to happen to you Gabriel."

Claire felt her breath catch in her throat.

"I'm telling all of you at once, because I can well imagine what would happen if Mr. Gray just disappeared. Gabriel, you're coming with me. Now."

"But-" Molly's protest was cut short by the doctor's deeper voice. "No arguments. Say your goodbyes, quickly, because depending on how things turn out it may be a very long time until you're all together again."

Peter didn't hesitate a moment longer. He scooped his best friend into a desperate embrace. Molly was next. And then it was Claire's turn.

The cheerleader and the killer of the past were replaced by two people united by terrible circumstances and suffering. Each waited to see what the other would do, like the high noon showdowns of bygone days. Claire offered her hand. Graciously, Gabriel accepted and shook it firmly. Claire gave the smooth, warm palm a final squeeze.

Then he was gone.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Don't speak unless spoken to directly, don't make eye contact, sit still and behave."

Gabriel felt like he was back in catechism class again. His mother was lecturing him on the proper way to behave in mass.

"So basically, you want me to act like I was three weeks ago."

He and Henderson were passing through the hallways at a steady clip. The prisoner felt like he was on his way to an execution.

"Well, no. Not as extreme as that. The key is not to look like you're a threat."

Gabriel could almost feel the scratch of the stiff collar on his Sunday best.

"Why are you doing this? What benefit do you get out of me _not_ being treated like a piece of meat?"

"What benefit _do_ I get from treating you like that?"

That wasn't an answer, but it was too late to continue the conversation any longer. Jailer and inmate had arrived.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was highly doubtful that the woman leading the group therapy session actually had any credentials. Although she was abducted before the school year was over, Claire felt like she knew more about psychology from her intro class on the subject.

They were supposed to thinking about…something. Claire tuned out almost as soon as her bum hit her designated plastic chair in the circle. She had no idea what the topic of discussion for the day was. Judging from the hangnail Peter was worrying with his front teeth and the tile taking the brunt of Molly's nervous energy, her companions were similarly distracted. Molly's jiggling leg was sending vibrations through the floor and up Claire's chair. The older teen laid a hand on her roommate's knee without comment. Molly looked abashed and stopped…for about two minutes.

All they could do was wait.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Weight loss, injury, mental and physical torment, the list goes on and on. Take a good, hard look at the man in front of you and compare his appearance today to the intake photo in the official dossier."

"Your point, Doctor?"

Gabriel closed his eyes briefly to avoid glaring at the overpriced suit in the left of his peripheral vision. Obviously someone from the government. He didn't really have anywhere else to look; upon entering the conference room, he had been relegated to a chair facing the men and women that would decide his fate. Of course, he had been shackled to it at the ankles and available wrist. Gabriel wasn't even really sure why he was there, other than to act as a visual aid to Henderson. He really, _really_ hated being used.

"My point is that we wasted almost eight months on such a narrow field of research. Research that was often conducted with the utmost cruelty possible and sloppy procedures. The time that Fredrick Flanagan spent torturing Mr. Gray could have been spent in numerous other more sensible and applicable ways. The validity and reliability of the electric manipulation tests is questionable at best. The environment he was kept in, lack of consistent stimulation and _positive_ human contact, variations in lucidity, variations in injuries _inflicted by staff_, worsening malnutrition; it all adds up to a whole lot of suffering with very little meaning."

His eyes felt hot. The tingle on his corneas threatened to turn into tears. Gabriel Gray would _not _cry for these people.

"What about the suppressant formula? There has been success in that area, hasn't there Doctor?" It was a woman speaking this time. "Homeland Security needs to know that something concrete is being done to address the threat of meta-human abilities."

His throat was constricting. It was like breathing through a straw.

"Yes. That was one of the more successful ventures. Initial blood samples, before massive amounts of drug suffusion into Mr. Gray's body, yielded coding for a virus manufactured by the Primatech organization. Towards the later period of experimentation, abilities were stripped from Mr. Gray."

"He's powerless? Permanently?" It was another man, different than the first. The shock on his face was shared by his conspirators.

"Yes and no. We are still unable to isolate certain abilities from his body. His unique DNA allows for restructuring, shifting, manipulation…while the majority are gone, indefinitely it seems, a few remain. You'll find the list, brief as it is in the dossier."

Henderson appeared to be perspiring.

A woman on the end of the table raised a hand. Henderson acknowledged it with a nod. "Yes, I believe we all reviewed the folder before this meeting was called. Am I mistaken to believe that the mass murderer, alias Sylar, still holds his signature ability – intuitive aptitude?"

"He does."

His pulse pounded in his ears. He had lost circulation in his feet half an hour ago and it seemed the blood was rushing straight to his head.

"What then, would prevent Sylar from wreaking havoc on our country once again if given the opportunity? Any thoughts on what we should do?"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"_Do you really think you're fooling anyone?" _

Claire could really do without her inner voice, conscience, whatever it was, making her question her own feelings. It made her almost worry she did have some kind of mental disorder.

"_You're thinking about him right now. And not in the I'm-thinking-of-all-the-ways-I-could-kill-you kind of way."_

She was. All this time spent waiting and wondering was doing something to her brain. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" didn't even begin to cover it. Claire could almost _smell_ his presence.

Wait. That wasn't her imagination. She really _could_ smell Gabriel. Claire tucked a curl behind her ear to distract herself from the mystery. As she lowered her hand, her sleeve brushed her chin.

That was it. Claire was wearing Gabriel's shirt.

Discretely, she glanced around. Peter and Molly still seemed focused on not listening. The rest of the specials were either watching or participating in a heated debate. Good. Dipping her nose towards her armpit, Claire inhaled. She held her breath and savored the scent of masculinity and medicine clinging to the fabric.

She was going to go straight to Hell. God help her if she ever died. She was losing her mind.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Mind you, there might be some merit to keeping him alive."

It was like Gabriel wasn't even in the room. His partially digested oatmeal lunch threatened to reappear.

The line of officials turned their heads to the man at the table's furthest end.

"If Dr. Henderson is correct, and 6655321 can be managed, there's a lot of ground to explore. Not only in the field of abilities, but also in the 'real world.' The epidemiological applications of the studies we could do on virtually any disease, ailment, or injury treatment could be extraordinary."

He barely registered the crescents his nails left in his palm until a drop of blood slipped out.

"The opportunities a living human test subject - with the potential to be revived back to his original state at the end of each experiment with regenerative blood - could provide would be enormous." The man, apparently Flanagan's replacement as head researcher, wiped a palm over his face. He seemed almost overwhelmed by his own proposition. "We could do anything: discover the cure for cancer, demystify the human genome, revolutionize medicine as we know it! The potential is endless."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Endless time, ticking by until she forgot everyone she knew and loved from this lifetime. That's what the future held for Claire. Group therapy always drew her thoughts to the darker corners of her mind. The rise and fall of voices around her served as a reminder to Claire that she was an outsider. They would all die in time. But not her. She would be alone to watch death give meaning to all the world but her.

It was depressing.

Except that there _was_ someone else.

_You'll get bored, after like a hundred years of trying to off me, watching all your loved ones drop like flies. You may eventually come to forgive me. Maybe you'll even love me._

How many nights had she laid awake in bed, Sylar's disturbing prophesy ringing in her ears from that horrible day at the Stanton? She had spent countless hours begging it not to be true, resolving to hate him forever. To never forget the things he had done and who he had hurt. What he had done to her…

They took that away from her. His promise. The fucked-up mad scientist and his team of monstrous assistants took _him_ away from her. Without her stolen regenerative ability, Gabriel Gray was just as mortal as everyone else. Eventually, he would die. For good.

_So this is what an epiphany feels like._ The realization of her impending solitude was hollowing.

Claire needed Gabriel; he was the shadow that haunted her from pom-poms to sorority pledges. Her life had changed in unimaginable ways over the past four years. His presence, at times terrifying and others repulsive, was the constant.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Constant supervision, strict handling procedures, and major changes to the current protocol. That's my proposal."

At least the last one sounded like an improvement. _Thanks Henderson._

"I'm advocating a month on / month off regiment of incarceration. One month will be spent in research. The team will take a vote on what study will be conducted for those thirty days. As head of the facility, I get final call on experiment approval."

The man who had spoken earlier shifted in his seat and whispered something to the woman on his left. She didn't answer, and instead stared forward at Henderson. There was something vaguely familiar about her…

"At the end of the month, Mr. Gray will be returned to the general ward," Henderson raised his voice as protests from the inquisitors threatened to drown him out. "-Where he will be watched, very closely. However, his behavior will be that of a model psychiatric patient."

_Interesting._

"How can you guarantee that, doctor?"

Gabriel was wondering the very same thing himself.

Henderson turned on him suddenly. "Would you prefer to repeat the previous eight months for the rest of your natural life, or perhaps longer, Gabriel? Or would you like a reformed system whereby you get to rest after testing and see your friends?"

All eyes were on him. Gabriel licked his dry lips.

"The second one." His voice unintentionally came out as a quiet croak. "Please."

The woman with the inscrutable expression seated next to his future tormentor raised her hand to be recognized.

"Yes, Dr. Pinel?"

"I'd tend to agree with Dr. Henderson. Mr. Gray is going to be much more co-operative if there isn't a constant need for escape, namely, his life isn't being threatened at every moment. The reward of getting to see the others," her nose twitched slightly, "is a far greater incentive than corporal punishment. I would suggest that punishment for undesirable behavior during the 'off' period include, for lack of a better expression, 'time outs' in solitary.'

Henderson seemed to be thinking that over. At length he nodded. "That certainly seems reasonable to me. Dr. Pinel's credentials in psychiatry are exemplary, so I would defer to her expertise."

The psychiatrist gestured once more.

"I'd also like to take this an opportunity to request a change in my own role at the institution. Although I was hired from The Company for my experience both with the incarcerated specials and the agents responsible for their handling, I've yet to actually _do_ anything either than act as a figurehead. Quite frankly, after seeing the tapes of Mr. Gray's torture, I was horrified. Not once was I brought in to assess his mental state or suggest alterations to his, well, I wouldn't call it treatment. Only after the events on the night of October 31st was I consulted. Both the massacre and Mr. Gray's deterioration were avoidable. I want to play an active role on the team this time around."

She and Henderson seemed to be having a silent conversation. Except that Gabriel knew the only person with telepathy was also behind bars.

"It's clear that there were some serious lapses in communication under Dr. Flanagan's leadership." Henderson resumed pacing. "I agree that you should be more involved on an interactive basis with the patients." Gabriel couldn't help but wonder if calling them patients instead of inmates helped the jailers sleep better at night.

"Also," apparently she wasn't finished, "I'd like to request that I be able to submit research proposals during Mr. Gray's stay. He would make a fascinating case study."

"Indeed." Henderson smiled wryly, "You'll have to tell me which disorder you settle on. BPD or APD?"

"Perhaps even NPD. Although of course, there's co-morbidity to consider." She appeared to be tamping down her excitement. _Great._ After a moment, her facial features settled into a serious expression once more. "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a very real concern as well. I'd like to monitor Mr. Gray closely, not only during the potential research month."

"Agreed. Any final thoughts before we settle on a course of action?"

He didn't mean Gabriel, of course.

"He's dangerous."

Gabriel swallowed, but there was no moisture left in his mouth to sooth his throat.

"He doesn't have to be. With structure, the right medications, therapy," Gabriel noticed Henderson was picking up speed and enthusiasm as he went, "Gabriel Gray can be controlled."

_Ha. _

"Look at him."

They did. The scrutiny of the men and women that held his future in their sweaty bureaucratic hands made his skin crawl. Gabriel shifted the inch his restraints allowed.

"Does this look like a man who's going to hurt someone?"

Gabriel was sure that every single one of those ability-fearing, Special-hating bastards was examining his appearance. As they appraised his scrawny physique from cowlick to white sneakered toes, the former serial killer lowered his eyes to the linoleum, lest his "guardians" glimpse the contempt they surely held. He felt the familiar stirrings of frustration and loathing in his gut.

_But I'm not killing people any more. No matter how…irritating. _

"Appearances can be deceiving, Doctor." It was the Suit.

_Not that I could, even if I wanted to. _

"He does look rather pathetic." The Homeland Security rep tapped her manicured nails on the legal pad before her.

_No matter how tempting. _

Henderson paced across Gabriel's line of vision. He stopped slightly to the left of the chair. "Shall we put it to a vote?"

Gabriel closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch as his future was decided for him.

"All in favor of the proposed revisions to the confinement protocols of inmate 6655321, Gabriel Gray, raise your right hand and say 'aye'."

"Aye."

He felt light headed. He hoped no one noticed that he was experiencing vertigo. Gabriel blinked to clear his vision.

"All opposed, say nay."

"Nay." Gabriel's gaze swiveled from right to left across the board. It looked like it would be a close call.

Henderson clapped his hands together once. "Well, the vote is four-three in favor of the changes. We'll wrap here then and-"

Gabriel didn't hear the rest of his custodian's speech. His irises rolled upwards as his slight frame was wracked with seizure-induced tremors. Gabriel's hearing was the last sense to leave him as he heard the strains of Henderson shouting his name.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_


	14. Hold Me Down

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

**WARNING: This chapter is rated "M" for…hmm…descriptive dreams and explicit experimentation. Also, I am not a doctor, an incarcerated special, or a fictional character; I've used text books, the internet, and good old fashioned imagination, so I apologize in advance if there are any inaccuracies. **

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Rain is gonna fall, the sun is gonna shine,  
The wind is gonna blow, the water's gonna rise  
She said, "when the day comes, look into my eyes"  
But no one's giving up quite yet, we've got too much to lose

Hold me down, sweet and low, little girl  
Hold me down, sweet and low, and I'll carry you home  
Hold me down, sweet and low, little girl  
Hold me down, sweet and low, little girl,  
So hold me down

And I'll carry you all the way when you say you're fine  
But you're still young, and out of line  
When all I need's to turn around,  
To make it last, to make it count

I ain't gonna make the same mistakes  
That put my momma in her grave  
I don't wanna be alone…

~ "Sweet and Low" by _Augustana_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

White. It was White. Gray? Or once-white-turned-gray. With little holes like craters on the moon. Pepper on Potatoes. Sprinkles on ice-cream. Dried blood spatter on carpet.

Gabriel didn't know how long he'd been staring at the ceiling.

His thoughts were wispy. His mind, blank. Like the plaster and gyprock above him. Someone was sitting on his brain. Owwww.

"Gabriel?"

A soft voice drifted through the fog.

"Gabriel? Can you focus on my voice for a moment please?"

He guessed he could. It sounded important.

"Gabriel, you had a seizure. You probably feel confused,"

Yup.

"Maybe a little disoriented…"

So that's what the floating feeling was called. It wasn't all that bad.

"You're safe though. You're in the infirmary. We're going to take good care of you. Okay?"

Gabriel was watching a stuttering film of himself from another body. He watched the other him blink. And blink again. Dr…Henderson….was giving him some kind of a look. Not happy. But not sad either.

"Okay."

He felt his tongue flop around the word, but it came from someone else's mouth. And…blink.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_He was Sylar. He was in New York. But it wasn't right. Where there should have been millions of people clogging the streets with their briefcases, hotdog stands, and shopping bags, there were none. It was quiet too. _

_Sylar stuck his hands in his pockets and strolled down the street. He passed taxicabs dead in the street. Garbage cans empty of the trash of the living mocked him from every street corner. There were no animals either. He thought for sure he could find some rats down in the gutters of the subway station, but nope. _

_Nothing was moving but him. He circled the block four times. His footfalls were starting to drag. He moved onto the next one. He was starting to stumble a bit. Sylar found himself leaning against a streetlamp plastered with posters for concerts and coffeehouses that didn't show much promise of taking place. _

_He was in Queens, that much was certain. But it couldn't be real. The real Queens was alive with the stench of humanity. But no, here it was. Empty. Desolate. And relatively clean, for being outdoors. _

_He was the only living being left. But was _he_ even real? With no one else around to confirm his existence, how could he know for sure? Experimentally, he whispered, "Hello…" His voice sounded interruptive and rude in the silence. No one answered. _

_Suddenly, he sank through the pavement. He didn't feel like Sylar anymore. He was Gabriel, and he was underground…in the bowels of a sewer. He was lying on platform surrounded by fetid water, completely naked except for his watch. His limbs were weighed down by some unseen force. _

_Out of the darkness appeared a face obscured by a surgical mask and cap. The figure splashed through the muck until it was standing at his side. _

"_Hello little 66554321." He'd recognize that voice anywhere: Dr. Flanagan. _

_Gabriel willed his arms and legs to work, but it was no use. _

"_Have you met my beautiful assistant? Come, dear."_

_A shorter figure sloshed into view. Her blonde hair and green eyes weren't any less lovely under the flickering bare bulb swaying overhead._

"_Claire? What? Why are you-" _

_She held a red-tipped fingernail to his lips. "Shhhhhhh." Grinning wickedly, Claire reached into her cleavage to procure a rusty scalpel. She passed it to the doctor with a deranged giggle. _

_The scientist leaned over his subject. He placed the jagged teeth of the weapon to Gabriel's forehead. Before he began his incision, he ripped the mask from his face. _

_Sylar. The hate filled eyes bore into Gabriel's soul. The dark doppelganger bent down further to breathe into his ear: _

"_This is usually the part where people start screaming."_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The sound of his own screams was what brought Gabriel back to reality. Apparently they had drawn the attention of half the infirmary as well, if the crowd of professionals in his doorway was any indication.

"Sorry," he managed to gasp, in between shuddering drags for air. The antiseptic tasting oxygen seemed to steady his nerves a bit. Slowly, he sank back into the pillows someone had previously propped him up with.

Most of the nurses and doctors dissipated when they saw there was no emergency. Dr. Henderson and a woman remained. She promptly entered the room and began checking to see that the IV's in his left hand were still attached. Henderson moved to the opposite side of the bed. "_Probably to distract me,"_ Gabriel's snide inner voice supplied.

"I suppose I don't need to ask how you're feeling." He poured a small cup of water for his patient.

"Uh, fine." The water was warm, but it took some of the rasp out of his throat. "Just a bad dream." _That was putting it mildly. _His hand shook so hard that droplets rolled down the sides of the pink plastic.

"Do you find you have nightmares often?"

Gabriel looked down at the sheets. The nurse adjusted a pillow under the crook of his broken arm. She took the cup from his trembling fingers.

"No. Not really. It's hard to dream when I'm drugged up every night."

Henderson took a seat on the end of the bed.

"Well, there are going to be changes made in the coming days. How much do you remember of the board meeting?"

Gabriel thought back. He could clearly recall the nerve-wracking conference regarding his future up until the room tilted and everything went black. Right after the vote in his favor. "They said yes to your plan. Then…I don't know." He turned his face away and busied himself reading the bag of clear liquid hanging from the IV pole. _Lorazepam 3-hydroxy benzodiazepine. _The rest of the print typed on the plastic was too small for him to read without his glasses. The nurse stepped in front of his view to check something. Gabriel was forced to look back at Henderson.

Henderson adjusted his glasses and peered at him quizzically. "You had a tonic-clonic seizure, Gabriel. Unconsciousness followed by convulsions. Has anything like that ever happened before?"

Gabriel shivered. "Only during the, um, experiments."

"But no history of epilepsy?"

The dark haired man shook his head slowly from side to side. The motion made him slightly nauseous.

Henderson still regarded him with interest. "Before the episode, did you feel any dizziness? Light headedness? Any problems with your vision or hearing? Hallucinations?"

"All of the above, except the last one." Gabriel tightened his free arm around himself.

"That's not unusual." Henderson nodded to himself, "it sounds like you were having a partial seizure, or aura, and we didn't pick up on it until it became full-blown."

Gabriel wasn't sure why it mattered, but he nodded his head once anyway. He was so tired even though he just woke up…

"Why did it happen? Is there something wrong with me? Something _else_ wrong with me?"

His physician smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the coverlet.

"We ruled out stroke, tumors, or hemorrhage while you were sleeping. The lab is testing a blood sample now for any illness or pathogens. It's very possible that it was a result of incredibly high stress."

Gabriel really had to fight not to roll his eyes. "Yeah, you could say I'm a little stressed out. Being locked up in a loony bin waiting for the next thrill does that to a person."

His doctor fixed him with a penetrating stare. "This is no joke. Your seizure lasted for almost thirty-five minutes. You're very lucky to be alive."

"Who's laughing?" Gabriel met the scrutiny with narrowed eyes. "I have no doubt all the zaps from the dearly departed Dr. Eff didn't help matters much either."

It was better to be sarcastic than scared.

"No, probably not," Dr. Henderson acceded. "For now, get some rest. I'm sure you'll have no problem falling asleep again." His back cracked as he stood. "If you need anything, give a holler. Arlene or one of the other nurses won't be far."

The nurse from earlier gave him a tight smile from the corner she had retreated to after performing her duties.

"Oh, one last thing." Henderson reached into the pocket of his white coat and removed a pair of handcuffs. He snapped one end around Gabriel's left wrist and the other around the bedrail. "Just in case."

"Right. Of course." Gabriel was already drifting off, so the words didn't carry the venom he intended. "Wouldn't want…that…"

The most infamous resident was asleep before his caretakers were even out the door.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire paced back and forth behind the couch in the common room. Group "therapy" ended, followed by supper, and now evening rec. was almost over. Gabriel still hadn't reappeared from the board meeting. Did that mean he was back in solitary…for good?

"What do you think happened? Did they lock Gabe up again? Do you think we'll ever see him again? Where-"

"Molly!" Claire cut her roommate off mid-worry. "I don't know!" She stopped pacing for the first time in the last hour and began kneading the sofa with restless fists. After a moment of taking her frustration out on the fabric, Claire caught Molly's frown. "I'm sorry Mol. I'm worried about him too." The older girl resumed her circuit.

Peter massaged his temples in frustration. "You'd think even if they did decide to put him back in his cell, Henderson would have come and told us by now." Claire spared him a glance. Her uncle had alternated positions on the couch about every thirty seconds since he sat down. She almost had to wonder why he didn't just join her and Molly's circular path around the furniture.

For the umpteenth time, Peter looked at the locked door. It showed no sign of opening. He groaned and knocked his head against the armrest. "This is ridiculous. How long can a meeting like that take?"

Molly flopped down on the couch next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. "Why don't we…talk about something else in the meantime? How about that steamed cabbage?"

Neither niece nor uncle acknowledged supper's motley vegetable.

Molly tapped her foot on the floor. "How about…that lady that came to speak to us at the end of dinner? What do you think of her?"

Claire glanced up from the fingernail she was gnawing away at. "The psychologist in tweed?"

"Dr. Pinel," Peter supplied offhandedly.

Molly nodded encouragingly, "Yeah, her. Do you think she's really going to do the stuff she said? Like, making Claire and I do school, and changing the rec. activities?"

Claire snorted. "Well, at this point, I'd be pretty hopeless if I ever got out and wanted to go back to college. I've missed so much time I'd have to start at the beginning again, so some lessons from Professor Mohinder wouldn't be a bad idea. You know, so my brain doesn't totally turn to mush."

Molly cast her eyes downward. "Brains…" Claire sighed. Of course, like Molly, gray matter reminded her of the man conspicuous by his absence.

As if on cue, the grind of a key in the doorknob drew everyone's attention. Claire nearly tackled Henderson when he entered the room. She quickly noticed was that he was alone.

"Where's Gabriel?" Claire, Peter, and Molly were too anxious to care if their combined shouting drew the attention of half the building.

Dr. Henderson took a seat on the couch. "He's fine. Towards the end of the ruling on his confinement, he had a pretty serious seizure, but he's sleeping it off right now. "What?" He held up a hand to silence the trio's outbursts. Speaking over their worries, he continued, "Like I said, Mr. Gray is fine now. There's nothing to worry about. We're keeping him in the infirmary overnight just to be safe, and to run some tests."

Claire wrapped her arms around Molly; they shared a hug of relief. The fun just never seemed to end at Blackburn.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel returned no worse for wear. If anything, he seemed in a better mood. The news that he wasn't going to be returned to the Hell of the first chunk of his stay at Blackburn was probably the reason, Claire determined.

As the final days of the month dwindled by, however, Gabriel seemed increasingly jumpy. At breakfast, the poor guy overturned a bowl of cereal (accidentally) when Claire's sneaker brushed his shin. It was the last day before he would leave for testing. The next day would also be the first day of school for her and Molly.

"X – 13 = 7. What is X?"

Gabriel was quizzing Molly on her algebra. Claire was listening with great amusement, forgoing her regular recreational pastime.

"Twenty. That was too easy. Give me a harder one."

"Hmmmm." He thought for a moment. Claire noticed that Gabriel Gray's eyebrows seemed to have a life of their own when he was contemplative. "4(x - 2) = 2(x + 3) + 7. Solve for X."

Molly looked absolutely horrified. "Not that hard!" She whined, "I can't do that."

Claire could tell that Gabriel wasn't really annoyed, but the look he gave Molly was fairly convincing. "And why not? I taught you Algebra when we had nothing else to do in our cell. That was months ago! You've had plenty of time to practice."

Here was the real test: was Gabriel going to fall for the puppy dog eyes Molly was giving him? "But Gaaaaabe. I couldn't do them without you. It's not the same with anyone else – you're the best teacher." Claire honestly thought he was going to give in…

"That sounds like the kind of thing someone who doesn't like math would say to get out of doing their homework. Nice try kid."

Molly pouted, but like Claire, seemed to be having a hard time not giggling right out loud.

"Okay, the answer is 21/2 or 10.5. Listen closely while I explain why. You'll want to be ready for the brilliant Mohinder Suresh's classes tomorrow."

That did it. Claire rolled onto her back from her relaxed posture on the couch. She was still clutching her sides in peals of laughter when Dr. Henderson arrived. Claire sobered immediately. An appearance from _him_ never merited anything good.

"Miss Bennet, Mr. Gray, I'd like to speak to the two of you please, _alone_."

He turned and left without checking to see if they followed. Claire looked to Gabriel for an explanation, but he seemed as out of the loop as she was. They met the doctor in the doorway. He shut the door behind them.

"As you know, tomorrow is the first day of experimentation for you, Gabriel."

"How could I forget?"

Ignoring the sarcastic response, Henderson continued, "This involves you as well, Claire."

Gabriel looked furious. "Leave her out of this! You don't have permission to do anything invasive to the other specials. I'm the dangerous one, remember?" Claire was taken aback by his ferocity. And maybe a little turned on. _Where the Hell did that come from?_

"Gabriel, control yourself and let me finish. In light of recent events, we've decided that the first major experiment will test regen-blood. The supply of blood collected at your intake, Gabriel, is limited: we've been drawing on it for so many projects that the team is hesitant to use it in this instance. However, this test would be to your benefit."

Claire looked between both men. Gabriel appeared ready to fist fight in the corridor while Henderson looked like he was discussing an unfortunate bout of indigestion.

"Claire, if you'll contribute one small syringe of your blood, we can inject it directly into Gabriel. Ostensibly, we'll have a lab controlled, documented example of its effects on your," he tilted his head at the scowling man, "broken arm. Although the cast is supposed to come off soon, there'll still be damage due to the multiple fractures. It's a win-win scenario – the team will get to see an ability at work, and the facility will be saved the time and cost of putting you through the necessary physical therapy. Bonus, if there is a neurological problem that caused your seizure, the blood will cure that too."

Claire thought the doctor's proposition over.

"We'll use more humane methods than Dr. Flanagan permitted. He'll be safe and mostly unharmed."

"Fine."

"No, it's not fine." Gabriel grabbed her by the shoulder so that they were facing each other. "Claire, you don't know what you're agreeing to. What if they use it for something totally different? They're trying to manipulate you. Don't let them. I'm not worth it."

Claire's heart, while unable to physiologically feel pain, emotionally ached.

"What if I'm there?"

Henderson seemed thrown off by her question. "What do you mean, Claire?"

"I'll donate, but only if I can be there for the operation or whatever you're calling it. That way I'll know you're not lying to us." _When did she and Sylar become an "us"? When he stopped being Sylar? _

"I'll watch. Take it or leave it."

Dr. Henderson contemplated her counter-offer. "Preemptively, I'm going to say yes. But I still have to clear it with the new head of research, Dr. Grisswald. See you two tomorrow."

He ushered them back into their cage and locked the door. Claire wasn't sure what exactly she had just agreed to.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel picked at the tape holding the tubing of the IV in place on the back of his hand. The adhesive encircling his wrist and forearm itched. With his luck, he was probably allergic.

"Hey, cut that out." Claire gently pulled his fingers away from the tape. He smirked back at her and replied, "I think a crooked IV is the least of my worries." She bit her lip and looked away.

"Claire. Look at me." She did. Gabriel didn't like that her olive eyes held so much moisture. "Why are you crying?"

She sniffled and punched his shoulder. "I'm not! The air in here is so dry. It's…irritating my eyes!" Gabriel thought it best not to remark that her ability would probably prevent such a complaint from happening at all. "Oh. That's too bad. I was gonna say that if it was over me, well, don't worry. I'm gonna be asleep anyways. I feel bad for _you_, not getting to nap in the middle of the day."

She tittered a little bit. The laugh sounded forced to Gabriel. He didn't know if he should call Claire on it or not. Before he could say anything else, Arlene the nurse bustled into the room. The orderly that had been watching them from the door joined the middle-aged woman at his bedside. The pair wasted no time snapping the bedrails into their upright position. Arlene took hold of the head of the bed, which the IV pole was attached. Gabriel tilted his head back to see her face. She was all business.

"You should already feel drowsy from the pre-anesthetic, Mr. Gray." Her tone was neutral, but he thought he could imagine a tinge of concern in the corners of her downturned expression.

"I do."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Although he could recite to the second exactly how much time had passed from when he was rolled down the hallway to when he was transferred onto the stainless steel table in the surgical suite, Gabriel still felt like time was moving unnaturally fast. As he lay there, divested of the flimsy gown he wore pre-op and covered only to his torso by a dark blue blanket, Gabriel felt incredibly exposed. More than anything, the feeling was caused by the emotion radiating from Claire. Gabriel Gray was just not a people person, so he couldn't name it exactly, but there was something huge taking place between him and the former cheerleader.

"Are we ready?" Henderson wasn't asking him. Gabriel glanced from the doctor's face obscured mostly by the paper-thin mask to Claire's uncovered one. His stomach flipped over. It didn't matter how many times he was the lab rat; it never got easier. He didn't want Claire to have to suffer by watching. She was lingering by the operating table. For a terrible moment, he was reminded of the maniacal Claire of his nightmare. Gabriel swallowed a wave of panic.

"Claire-"

"Sylar. Do you remember, when were in the hotel room at the Stanton?"

"Mmmm." That definitely wasn't what Gabriel expected. And she was calling him Sylar.

"You said that one day, I might love you?"

His heart skipped a beat. Embarrassingly, the EKG monitoring his pulse registered it, so he wouldn't be the only one to notice. "About that, I'm sorry. I should have never-"

"Shut up." Claire gripped his palm in hers. "I replied by saying that I was going to keep trying to kill you for the rest of our immortal lives." Her voice had taken on a desperate tone.

"Well, it's just that I'm not sure that I want to anymore. Keep trying to kill you, that is."

Every fiber of Gabriel "Sylar" Gray's being exploded with elation and ecstasy. One of the lab drones placed a rubber mask over his mouth and nose. Before unconsciousness could claim him, he squeezed Claire's sweaty palm back. "Thanks…" His hand slipped from hers. The last thing he registered before the weighty sensation mired him completely was a soft, "You're welcome. I meant it."

_Claire_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Miss Bennet, please wait off to the side."

Reluctantly, Claire removed herself to the wall opposite the research team. Her eyes never wavered from the dark head lolled on its side.

The team began to saw the cast off her oblivious compatriot's arm. She began to second guess herself.

Where had that speech even come from? While not exactly a declaration of love (she was far, far from doing anything of the sort), her impulsive last-minute assurances had irrevocably changed the course of their relationship.

"Hmmm. Actually, from the outside, it looks like the bones have healed well." Claire changed her focus from Gabriel to the sterile gown wearing researchers. She could just barely distinguish Henderson from the others. He was examining the slack arm in question with a critical eye.

Did she do the right thing? If nothing else, Claire had spoken from the heart. Honesty was something Sylar always prized above all else. Speaking of…she called him Sylar. It was easier that way. Claire had to put some distance between her and that man if she was going to be so emotional.

"Scalpel." Claire didn't look away as one of the other doctors cut into the limb along a raised scar line of stitches. As blood seeped over iodine stained skin, she almost flinched away. It was different to see her own body mutilated than someone else's.

"There it is. See the muscular damage? The bone is obviously weaker too where it was shattered. Even with PT, I doubt this arm would ever be the same." While the rest of the small group gathered for a closer look, Henderson met Claire on the sidelines.

"We're ready for you, Claire."

Tearing her eyes from the contained horror scene in front of her, Claire rolled up her sleeve. Henderson produced a small syringe from a nearby tray and wasted no time in collecting her so called "heal-anything" blood. She looked back at the operating table as he was finishing. She wondered if not feeling pain was the worst thing in the world after all.

Henderson injected the sample into Gabriel's wrist, below the gash. The furrow was deep enough that Claire could see the exposed bone. The team waited. Claire held her breath.

Gabriel's brown eyes opened of their own accord. The grind of bone against metal shuddered though the operating theatre. Claire rushed to the table.

The scientists hardly took notice of the small woman as they stared at their subject in fascination and revulsion. Gabriel's body was making a valiant effort to push out the steel inserts, but was having trouble. With his free hand, the patient pushed the mask from his face.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he managed to growl through gritted teeth, "Loosen the pins."

The faceless figures around Claire took no heed of their patient's agony. Some began taking notes while others babbled about anomalies and other nonsense. It was probably the first time some of them had ever seen a live ability. Claire was disgusted.

"Dr. Henderson! Do something!" Claire couldn't fathom his expression with his face covered as it was, but his eyes looked sad.

"Pleeeeeease." Gabriel's moan cut to Claire's core. Ignoring the academic sadists around her, she plunged her hand into the open wound tract. If they weren't going to do anything, she was. Gabriel's other hand nudged her own in amongst the sinew. Before either could provide any relief, they were pulled apart. Claire struggled against the robust orderly holding her back to no avail. She watched in horror while Gabriel was forcibly held down by the scientists.

Henderson gripped the destroyed arm by the wrist and bicep. Claire could just barely hear his baritone amongst Gabriel's keening wails and the shrill beeps of the machinery, but he was definitely speaking. She ceased her struggles to make out his whispers.

"Come on Gabriel. Just a minute longer, you can do this. It's almost over. You're okay." He was repeating a mantra of assurances. Claire was completely shocked. Just when you thought you had a person figured out…

_plink _

Finally, the first pin popped. The others followed in rapid succession. Claire sank into the large arms wrapped around her.

The whole room watched as Gabriel seemed to collapse into himself. Breathing raggedly, he stopped fighting his captors and just blinked at the ceiling. The hold around Claire loosed enough for her to stumble to his side once more. She gripped his twitching, bloodstained hand in her own. They had eyes only for each other while the rest of the room watched flesh miraculously knit itself together. Claire wiped a stray tear from Gabriel's cheek. She left a bloody thumbprint on the flushed skin.

Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw Henderson inject a long syringe into the bottom of the IV. After a few seconds, Gabriel's eyes fluttered closed. When his chest began to rise and fall in a steady rhythm, Claire let out a choked sob.

"Get her out of here. Now." Henderson's tone left no room for argument. Claire's guard dragged her out of the operating theatre.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

She had screamed. She had cried. She had kicked and punched the door until she was too exhausted to move.

When the door finally opened, it nudged Claire in the back. She still didn't move from her heap on the concrete.

"Claire?"

_Him. _The sound of Henderson's hoarse voice gave Claire a second wind of fury. She launched herself at the lying piece of scientist scum.

"You said it would be different! You said he'd be okay, that it wouldn't be as bad as before! _You lied to us!_"

He caught her by the forearms and prevented her from clawing his eyes out. "Claire, calm down."

"No you lying piece of shit! You deserve ten times what you did in there! I'm going to-"

"Claire!" Henderson bellowed into her face, "I didn't lie! I wasn't expecting that either!" She ceased her efforts slightly. "I thought it _would_ be different!" He let go of her and pressed his forehead to the wall. "I tried."

Claire wasn't going to let him off that easily. "You _tried_? Obviously not hard enough! That was torture. It was-"

"Not even half as bad as anything Gabriel endured under Flanagan's control." Henderson turned his bloodshot eyes to her admonishingly. "This was the first – and last – time you saw any of the research conducted here. Don't pretend to be an authority."

Claire bristled under his criticism. She took a step closer to the haggard doctor and hissed, "Why don't you act like the 'authority' for once. That was cruel and you know it. Stop pretending to be our friend."

"I'm the closest thing you've got in here, like it or not." The seasoned Company doctor wasn't going to be cowed by a co-ed college student. The face-off lasted a beat longer before Claire sank to the floor again. Henderson slid down the wall after her.

"So what happened then? What went wrong?"

The man beside her exhaled a breath of frustration and exhaustion. "One of the idiot new team members didn't read the file close enough. Or he thought he knew better. Whatever the case, Gabriel wasn't as sedated as deeply as he should have been. We have a specific formula for specials designed by the Company. It's strong enough to even waylay regens in the right dose." Claire recalled the nicknamed "chocolate milk" nasal drip she and everyone else on the intended plane to Building 26 had experienced. If Nathan hadn't pulled hers out…well, things would have been very different for all involved. "The twit used a standard sedative instead, so of course when we injected Gabriel with your blood; it was flushed out of his system as a detriment to natural function."

That made sense to Claire. Henderson continued his explanation, "it was a risk at any rate, but because of my colleague's mistake, it became a sure bet. The ideal situation would have been that Gabriel stayed more or less relaxed and without too much discomfort. That the steel pins didn't come out immediately on their own was a surprise to me as much as it was you. I can only guess that because they had begun to fuse to the bone, it was that much more difficult. If your blood sample was attempting to fix multiple areas at once, or it was too small an amount, or if his body was too weak…we can't really know for sure."

"But why didn't you do something when it was obvious Gabe was having trouble?" Claire's questions were losing a lot of her previous outrage. She honestly just wanted answers at this point. Henderson straightened his tie. "You may not understand my logic, but it was an opportunity. I couldn't pass up the chance to gage the reaction of each researcher. Who was intrigued, who was compassionate, that kind of thing. It's important to know, since these tests will be going on for a very long time to come."

Tears threatened to escape her eyelashes, but Claire willed them back. "Was it worth it?"

"Suffering seldom seems worth the reward, but yes, I did take note of a couple particularly 'eager' individuals. I'll keep an eye on them in the future. Claire, please keep in mind that although I am now the facility director, I'm not the lead on research. I'm there to act as a representative of the infirmary. I have to play by the rules too."

"This sucks." She didn't mean to say it out loud, but Henderson nodded in agreement. "Sometimes it does. Are you ready to go get cleaned up?" Claire looked down at her crusted attire. "Yeah, definitely. But what about Gabriel?"

"Resting back in the hospital wing. You don't have to worry about him, he's clean and warm."

How could she ask this without being misinterpreted? "Could I…just see him one last time before I go back? _To make sure for myself._ So I can tell Peter and Molly?"

"I suppose that would be alright, but only for a minute, and you're not to wake him up."

"Deal."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire leaned on the cool bedrail. She was incredibly tempted to reach out and touch some part of Gabriel Gray's face while he slept. Having Dr. Henderson at her elbow curbed the urge…slightly.

"He looks so peaceful," Claire whispered in wonder. She had showered and changed, and could almost pretend the afternoon had been a bad dream. Seeing Gabriel so calm after the ordeal added to the surrealism.

"Hopefully he'll stay that way for awhile." Henderson beckoned her to the doorway. Once they were in the hall, he spoke in his regular volume. "That's the only test of that nature for this month. Our psychiatrist will be spending some quality time with Mr. Gray for the coming weeks."

Claire could already imagine how much Gabriel was going to feel about that, given his past tendency to play with other people's psyches.

"Sounds fun. Maybe don't tell him right away…"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N: Here's the explanation for the second math problem.

4(x-2)=2(x+3)+7  
4x-8=2x+6+7  
4x-2x=6+7+8  
2x=21  
x=21/2 or 10.5


	15. Trouble

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

**I am not a doctor, an incarcerated special, or a fictional character; I've used text books, the internet, and good old fashioned imagination, so I apologize in advance if there are any inaccuracies. **

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars."  
~**Oscar Wilde**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel gave the metal cuff tethering his wrist to his bedrail an experimental tug.

He wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

Groggy and confused, he had just awoken to stiff bed sheets and a killer hangover. Well, he had only been drunk a handful of times in his life, but the basketball-crammed-into-a-much-smaller-skull feeling he presently had was definitely comparable. Gabriel was unsurprised to discover the handcuffs. What was interesting, however, was that the wrist encircled by the restraint was the same in every way to its mate; his right arm was completely healed.

_Ohhhhhh yeah. _The waking nightmare of his blood transfusion came rushing back. Gabriel dug his bare toes into the hospital-grade mattress to shift into a seated position. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. _Ughhhhh._

"Mr. Gray?" A curt voice drew his attention to the door. A smartly dressed woman, between twenty-five and thirty years his senior, clicked her heels into the room. "Mr. Gray, I'm not sure you remember me, but I'm Dr. Pinel." She extended her hand. Gabriel's effort to shake was halted by his unwanted accessory. The woman offered a small smile he didn't return, and gave him her left hand. Gabriel accepted.

"I remember. From the board meeting."

Dr. Pinel gestured to a chair in the sparse room's corner. "May I sit down?'

Gabriel rolled his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the stiffness in his neck. "I don't think I'm in any position to stop you." He wasn't falling for the shrink's pleasantries or mind games. The ex-killer had to admit though; it was mildly commendable that she left the orderly/guard outside. Gabriel could see the closely cropped hair of the guard through the wire-incased window of the closed door.

The psychiatrist sighed. "Mr. Gray, please don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be." She dragged the uncomfortable looking piece of furniture alongside him. "What would you prefer I call you?"

"What?"

Dr. Pinel unfastened her worn briefcase and removed a folder. It was probably a duplicate of the one Henderson had, Gabriel figured. Actually, probably everyone and their uncle had one by now. She flipped through to a document with a typeface too small for Gabriel to read upside down.

"Gabriel Gray, alias Sylar: displays extreme reactivity to his given name." She peered over delicate reading glasses to gauge his reaction. "Mr. Gray, Primatech was kind enough to share their resources with us. Also, as you may already be aware, many of the staff (including myself), were recruited from the same organization. Had you not escaped the Company at the earliest possible opportunity _every_ time you were captured, this wouldn't have been our first meeting." Dr. Pinel let that sink in for a moment. "I've seen the footage of your emotional reaction to Noah Bennet's taunts during your first stay in level five. So I'll ask again, which name do you prefer?"

Well, she got right to the point, this one. "Whatever." He wasn't going to make her job any easier.

A muscle in the seasoned professional's cheek twitched ever so slightly.

"Cut the surliness. Your preferred name?"

Gabriel had to resist the urge to smirk, he really did. But, post-carnival he turned over a new leaf…

"Whatever you like, doctor."

It didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun.

"Mr. Gray, then."

Her lack of reaction was slightly disappointing.

"If you're not interested in speaking, shall we begin, _Mr. Gray_, with some basic personality tests?" The unflappable psychiatrist propped her briefcase on the edge of his bed and began producing an impossibly high stack of booklets. Gabriel watched her motions with a sinking feeling.

"First, you can complete the MMPI-2, then the Myers Briggs, then the Big Five personality test," Gabriel's eyes widened of their own accord with the growing heap of papers. "I also have the Revised Neo…Perhaps we can have a brief lunch break, during which we can discuss your choice of name, before resuming the second batch. Pending, of course, your cooperation."

_Well played_.

"Am I doing this here? In bed and with handcuffs?"

Dr. Pinel reached across his torso to centre the tray attached to the side of the bed. She hefted the stack of tests onto the plastic surface. "Yes. That's why your writing hand is free. You're left-handed, correct?"

Gabriel didn't feel like sharing that his time unwillingly spent as the right-handed Nathan Petrelli rendered him somewhat ambidextrous. He simply responded, "Yeah."

She removed several sharpened pencils from her stores and plunked them on the top of the two -foot-high stack of papers. "You'll be needing these. Let me know if you need the sharpener." With that, Dr. Pinel opened a laptop and began typing in earnest. Gabriel stared at her incredulously.

"Better get started, _Mr. Gray_. It's going to be a long day."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire wondered how Gabriel was faring with the psychiatrist. She didn't seem to be all that bad, as far as psychologically trained jailers went. The restructuring of recreation time was a major improvement, for starters. Morning and Afternoon Recreation became school periods. Molly was instructed during the morning while Claire worked independently on assignments. In the afternoon, the girls would switch – Molly worked quietly while Claire had the benefit of Mohinder's attention. After almost a year of crosswords, Claire was glad for any change. Of course, if she wanted to go back to her entertainment standby, she could since Evening rec. was still a relative free-for-all.

Claire looked up from the math problems she had to finish by that afternoon to check on Peter's activities. Her uncle was flipping through a hardbound volume of medical jargon. The student had to hand it to Dr. Pinel – she actually managed to find books related to their interests and professions. Apparently, the woman had no tolerance for "time-wasting frivolities" and mandated that the evening would be the only time to indulge them. Hiro and Ando gladly conducted Japanese language lessons three times a week for any interested inmates. Matt was busy with workbooks for his dyslexia. The cafeteria unknowns – specials Claire had thus far been uninterested in befriending – appeared more often to take place in commonly shared activities. It seemed like everyone had something to do.

But Claire wasn't fooled. It was only a distraction from longing for the real word. And it wasn't working on her. She kept Gabriel's advice close to her heart and remembered his promise that they would find a way out. Eventually…

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The long day actually turned into five long days. Gabriel now knew that he had been treated to a different kind of torture. His hand actually felt like it might fall off from filling out question after question designed to figure out what kind of a nut he was. It seemed like his psychiatrist adversary had an unending supply of questionnaires every time he declined her questions with disinterest. If he never saw a scantron sheet again, he could die a happy man.

"I'm finished."

Dr. Pinel turned a skeptical eye to her unwilling patient. "Really, all of them?"

"Yes." And it had only taken him thirty-six hours…

"Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes, please."

The psychiatrist pressed a call button on the wall not far from his head. After a period of glaring (on Gabriel's part) and typing (on Dr. Pinel's part) a nurse wheeled in a cart bearing two Styrofoam incased lunches, just like every other day.

Lunchtime was sure to be the thrill it always was with the good doctor: moody silences and one-word answers (Gabriel) paired with probing questions and patient half-frowns (Dr. Pinel). Begrudgingly, the infamous manipulator had to admit he was impressed with the psychiatrist's calm tenacity.

"Thank you Arlene," Dr. Pinel imparted to the exiting aide. Turning to Gabriel, she asked, "How are you feeling?"

Ignoring the fact that she was probably questioning the status of his mental, rather than physical, health, Gabriel answered, "My head hurts."

His new foe popped the lid off his container first. Lunch was slices of meat something-or-other. She sliced the meat with the plastic knife provided. Gabriel wouldn't have been able to with one hand, bound as he was.

"Thanks." What? He had manners, alright?

"Do you need glasses? In every single photograph we have of you as Gabriel, you're wearing them, even in early childhood." Well, that was incredibly creepy that they had pictures of him as a kid. Gabriel couldn't help but wonder where those had come from. "As Sylar however, you've never been seen wearing glasses."

So they were back to this again.

Dr. Pinel handed him a plastic fork. What he wouldn't give for real cutlery…

"Well?"

Gabriel chewed the ham, (it seemed the closest relative to his lunch), and thought her question over.

"Yup."

The psychiatrist, calm as her facial expression appeared, looked dangerously close to snapping her own eating utensil in half.

"Yup, _what_?"

Should he take pity on her? She did have access to something he wanted; straining his retinas every day on her stupid tests was getting really tiresome…

"Yup, I need glasses. Even in my, uh, Sylar days I wore contacts. Except when I had Claire's ability." Oops. He hadn't meant to say that last part out loud.

"I suppose it's too early to ask if you'd like to talk about Miss Bennet."

Gabriel chewed his potatoes in response. God he had missed solid food.

She tucked into her own meal, and muttered a quiet, "Right."

Their meal was almost over before either spoke again.

"You don't have to like me, but you should at least play along. Every minute we spend together is a minute less you spend in physical experimentation."

The shrink had a point.

"Gabriel. You can call me Gabriel. I'm trying not to be Sylar anymore. Well, I'm not really the same Gabriel Gray I was before either, but at least it's something."

Finally, the psychiatrist looked pleased. "That is something." She gathered up the refuse from their meal and tossed it in the trash.

"You can call me Kristyn."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire's under-the-bed notch calendar told her it was Valentine's Day. She couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to spend the day with Gabriel. Secretly, she had to admit she missed him: the way he teased Molly, the way he looked up to Peter, his smart mouth comments to Matt and Mohinder, the way his eyes lit up when he and Hiro discovered another nerd thing they had in common, the way his dark hair was starting to grow long enough to fall over his right eye…

It wasn't like she would have spent the day thinking up goofy endearments for the guy, but it would have been fun to see what he would have come up with for her. His pinot noir proposal and the information-seeking kiss had both been, well, weird and unwelcome, but maybe she wouldn't have been so unwilling this time.

Only fourteen more days until March and she saw _her_ creeper again.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel was wide awake and waiting for another day of inane "fundamental" questions. He had spent a lot of time sleeping the first few days into his psych sessions. He probably could have had the questionnaires done sooner had he not drifted off so much, but apparently someone had seen fit to dose him heavily with sedatives. It was kinda nice, he thought, that Dr. Pinel just let him sleep and didn't comment when he awoke and resumed filling in the bubble sheets. It was even nicer when she changed his chart so that instead of getting high-concentrate shots of the sedative-suppressant twice a day, he got it distributed four times a day at a dose that enabled him to feel less like one of the living dead. He wasn't going to act like they were buddies and call her by her first name though. Gabriel's ruminations were interrupted by the punctual psychiatrist.

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

"Where?" He wasn't taking any chances.

Dr. Pinel looked confused. "Why does it matter where we go?"

Gabriel tilted his head slightly and explained, "Well, if it's a walk to solitary, no thank you. If you mean a walk outside, yes please." He wasn't sure what her expression meant. It looked sort of pitying. Annoying.

"How about a compromise: there's a room on this floor I'd like to take you."

He could go for that. Gabriel said as much, and the doctor unlocked his cuffs with a key from her blazer's pocket. To his mild amusement, she clipped the free end around her own wrist, "so that he wouldn't get any funny ideas."

The odd pair exited the room and began their short stroll. Of course, one of the guards trooped along behind them with a watchful eye.

It felt amazing to stretch his legs, even if it meant Gabriel was literally attached to his psychiatrist. He imagined they made an interesting picture – handcuffed arms slightly swinging as they marched – to onlookers.

Too soon they reached their destination. Dr. Pinel keyed a code into an electronic pad and gestured Gabriel inside.

It was a classroom for deranged kindergartners.

That's what the square space seemed to resemble, at least. The walls and floors were padded with thick, bouncy-looking material. Someone had put "inspirational" posters over the wall padding. The nauseating slogans encouraged Gabriel to "believe in yourself!" and "remember that every day is the first day of the rest of your life!" A round table stacked with books had been brought in to complete the ambiance.

Gabriel glared at his guardian. "Really?"

She shut the door behind them and unlocked the restraints. "I didn't decorate, if that's what you're referring to. Remember that this was an institution before we moved in. I chose this room for its dissimilarity to your current bedroom and former cell. Have a seat – the floor's surprisingly comfortable."

Gabriel plunked himself down on one side of the short-legged table. Dr. Pinel took the opposite side.

"I thought we'd discuss the results of some of your personality tests."

That could be fun. Or awful.

"Did I pass?"

The psychiatrist chuckled as she pulled a heavy volume off the top of the stack. "Personality tests aren't pass/fail, unless you have a complete absence of personality, which certainly isn't the case."

"Oh gee," Gabriel threw his arms in the air sarcastically, "What a relief."

She ignored her patient's lack of enthusiasm and leveled her gaze with his. "First off, I know you lied on at least a quarter of the questions. I've half a mind to make you fill out all the surveys again."

Gabriel swallowed, but didn't break his stare. "What gave you that misguided idea?"

Dr. Pinel removed a printout from her briefcase and examined it thoughtfully. "When I scored your tests, there were some interesting results. Well, actually it was the absence of interesting results that caught my attention. Predictably, you scored high on all the neuroticism traits that would suggest an avoidant personality." She looked up and explained, "That means you're shy, insecure in social interactions, and hypersensitive to rejection."

_Okay, so maybe that's a little accurate…_

"Yet, all the answers that should have pointed to Narcissistic Personality Disorder or Antisocial Personality Disorder were oddly benign. It's almost as if you very cleverly answered so as to stay right around the population baseline."

Gabriel shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know what that means. I'm not sure if you've heard, but I'm just a simple watchmaker." He really thought she might lose it that time, but all he got out of Dr. Pinel was a long suffering sigh.

"No, you're not. Gabriel, you're a murderer. You love taking what's not yours and take great pride in your kills."

He bristled at her simplistic analysis. "Do your tests tell you that?" Dr. Pinel slapped a dozen crime scene photos on the table. "No, the walls splattered with your name, the elaborate deaths of your victims that point to use of multiple abilities, and the amount of kills you've amassed tell me so. Read the diagnostic criteria for both disorders from the DSM IV-R."

She shoved the heavy book she selected earlier in front of him. Gabriel began reading:

"_Narcissistic Personality Disorder: A pervasive pattern grandiosity (in fantasy and behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, as indicated by at least five of the following: _

_1. Grandiose sense of self-importance. _

_2. Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty. _

_3. Belief that he or she is "special" and unique. _

_4. Excessive need for admiration._

_5. Sense of Entitlement._

_6. Tendency to be interpersonally exploitive. _

_7. Lacks Empathy._

_8. Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her. _

_9. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes."_

Gabriel looked up from the page. "It's not a fantasy if I'm actually capable of achieving power; I am, well, was special; and yeah, I thought as the most powerful I was entitled to others' abilities. My Intuitive Aptitude enables me to do so. It's natural selection."

Dr. Pinel raised her eyebrows. "But you don't think that anymore?"

"No. Peter…helped me come to an understanding that I had to change. I realized some things on my own too." Gabriel thought back to his fear of an eternity spent alone that led to the barren New York of his nightmares.

"Do you want to talk about it?" The doctor's soft question drew Gabriel from his memories. "No. Not right now. I thought you had another one for me?" She flipped to another marked page. He read:

"_Criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder: A. A pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others occurring since age 15, as indicated by at least three of the following:_

_1. Failure to conform to social norms and repeated law breaking._

_2. Deceitfulness._

_3. Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead_

_4. Irritability and aggressiveness_

_5. Reckless disregard for safety of self or others._

_6. Consistent irresponsibility_

_7. Lack of remorse_

_B. The individual is at least 18 years of age. _

_C. There is evidence of Conduct Disorder with onset before age 15."_

Gabriel grimaced. "Nice try, but I was a very different person before I became Sylar – which was way over the age of eighteen. Plus, it takes a lot of foresight to stalk someone, so no, I'm not exactly impulsive."

"But does the rest fit?"

Gabriel threw the diagnostic manual across the room in frustration. It bounced off the wall with a satisfying thud. "You don't understand. It's not that easy! You can't just come in and apply your normal person psychobabble to someone who's anything but normal!" He stood and began to pace. It didn't even matter if he stomped, because the floor was so damn springy!

"You can't even imagine what the Hunger is like. Wanting to understand something so bad that it feels like the urge is going to claw though your gut. It's like an itch behind your eyeballs that's so bad you'd tear them out to relieve it. But the only way to get any relief is to take, and take, and take, and even then you're not totally satisfied. For a brief moment though, it's such an incredible high that you can forget everything else, because for that second, everything in the world just _fits_."

Gabriel dropped to the floor, his head in his hands. "You have no idea what it does to a person. Eventually, you don't recognize yourself. Nothing else matters except the next one. It's intoxicating and disgustingly glorious. And it's so hard to be good."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and flinched.

"Thank you for sharing that with me."

Gabriel didn't respond.

"It sounds like maybe I was mistaken. Maybe we should work on helping you stay good and dealing with the trauma you've dealt with for almost a year now. Would you like to start with some relaxation exercises?"

Gabriel thought of how tempted he had been to massacre everyone in sight for their abilities shortly before he was taken into the experimentation month. He remembered Peter and Molly's hopeful faces and how they believed in him. He thought of Claire, and how she was starting to see him as human.

"Yeah, I guess that'd be okay."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire was surprised how fast the month went by. On the first of March, Gabriel reappeared in the breakfast line as though he had never left. When asked how he spent the rest of the month after she left, her dark ally muttered something about surveys and meditation. Claire thought it best to let him be.

Besides, they had something to look forward to: Dr. Pinel would be beginning art lessons that afternoon.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Don't be shy, paint what you _feel_."

Claire eavesdropped on the arts and crafts lesson taking place at the same time as her biology class. Dr. Pinel was conducting the "constructive recreation" session in the same space. The college student sneaked a peak at her cohorts' artwork around the sides of her moldy textbook.

Molly was painting some brightly colored flowers. Not surprising given her sweet temperament. Peter was slightly frowning at a blank piece of paper. Claire reasoned that he must be unsure what to _feel._

"Chromosomes form the very basis of our DNA," Mohinder continued as if she hadn't been looking away from his drawings on a small whiteboard. Claire didn't have the heart to tell him that she had learned _that_ in high school. A little review couldn't hurt anyways. She turned her head slightly to peer at the art class.

It was hard to tell from her angle, but it looked like the unknown criminal specials, Matt, and Hiro were painting ordinary things – families, rainbows, trees. Claire wondered what Gabriel was working on…she had the niggling thought reminding her that he once killed for a precognitive painting ability. Today though, it was hard to tell what exactly he was painting. There was nothing futuristic about a swirl of seemingly random colors.

Gabriel accidentally knocked over the bowl of red paint as he reached for the white. The dish skittered to the end of the table and tipped off. The crimson liquid dripped over the side. "Oops," Gabriel grimaced. He cupped his hands to try and stop the flow from hitting the linoleum.

"We have twenty-two pairs of these magnificent, unique strands."

Dr. Pinel noticed her patient's trouble. "Oh, was there a spill? That's okay." Claire noted her good-natured attitude. "Someone please pass the paper towel." One of the mystery specials tossed a nearly empty roll down the table with excessive force. It hit the container of water between Gabe and Peter, causing it to tip as well, soaking both men.

Peter sighed at his soggy paper, "At least I hadn't started yet." Gabriel frowned at his painting, which now looked like it was melting due to the extra moisture.

Dr. Pineal bustled over. "It looks like we need a more paper towel, and maybe a mop. I'll go see what I can find. Everyone, continue your artwork." Claire watched her knock on the door three times. The orderly guarding the passageway looked through the narrow window. He opened it and let her through. As the door slowly closed, Claire saw the psychiatrist whisper instructions to the orderly on the other side. Probably, she wanted him to peak in now and then and make sure they didn't kill each other.

As soon as she was gone, the room came alive with chatter. Matt turned to Hiro and remarked, "This art therapy is actually kinda fun." The Japanese man nodded and began discussing the comic book style panel he had drawn. Claire was actually looking forward to her turn with the art supplies after the science class.

"Mohinder," Molly raised her hand, "I heard what you were teaching Claire. I was wondering, can DNA think?"

The geneticist furrowed his brow. "No Molly. Why?"

The teen continued shading her petals. "Because Gabe has stubborn DNA. Otherwise, his intuitive aptitude wouldn't be working around the drugs they give us." Hearing his name, Gabriel tore his gaze from the caged clock on the wall. He gave his former cellmate a small smile. "_Professor_ Suresh is talking about regular people, Molly."

"Oh yes, and Sylar's _special_." Claire detected the derision in Mohinder's tone. Gabriel looked ready to argue the point. Peter cleared his throat. "Well, we all are, right? That's why we're here." Satisfied that he diffused the tense situation, Peter selected a dry piece of paper.

"Speaking of all of us being here," apparently Gabriel wasn't as satisfied, "when are we getting out?" Claire's interest was piqued. He wasn't done. "I think we should make another escape attempt."

Matt Parkman rolled his eyes at the former killer. "Because the last one went so well, you mean."

Claire shared the annoyance she watched flit across Gabriel's face. "So what, we give up because that one didn't work?" Leveling her gaze with Matt, she agreed, "Gabriel's right. We have to try again."

Peter smeared a stroke of blue on his paper. "No we don't."

"What? What's wrong with you Peter?" Gabriel voiced Claire's thoughts exactly. Passivity wasn't normal for her uncle at all.

Peter dropped his paintbrush on the table and faced his roommate. "I don't mean never. I just think we should wait."

Gabriel ran a red stained hand through his spiked hair. Claire noted he was lucky the paint had dried or he'd be picking tempera flakes out later. "What are waiting for Peter? We've got to get out of here!"

Peter scooted a little closer to his friend on the bench. "I just think we should make a plan and wait until the time is right." Gabriel stood from his seat, resisting any attempts at pacification. "Peter, are you crazy? Listen to yourself. You're going soft in here."

Claire really didn't think that was going to go over well.

Peter rose to his feet and placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "I'm not; I'm just trying to look out for you. I don't want you to get hurt because we rush into something-"

"Well stop it!" Claire startled at Gabriel's shout. He flung Peter's hand away. "Stop trying to protect me!"

Peter looked like he had been slapped. His shock quickly turned to anger. "If I don't who will? You haven't exactly got a whole lot of friends here!"

Claire didn't like where this was going. Gabriel crossed his arms defiantly. "So? That doesn't mean I need you to coddle me all the time, Peter. I can handle myself, thanks."

"Oh yeah, you handled yourself just fine for the month and a half you were catatonic. You handled yourself just fine when I had to dress you, feed you, and take care of you. You're just fine when I'm there every night and you wake up screaming in our room!" The blood drained from Peter's reddened face when he realized what he had just hollered to the group. "Shit, Gabe. I'm-"

"What, you're sorry?" Gabriel began to pace the length of the room like a caged tiger. "Well, _I'm_ sorry that you're putting yourself out so much." He stopped his trek and came eye to eye with Peter. "I'm not your brother, so back off."

Claire's stomach rolled over.

"Yeah, I can see that. Nathan would recognize kindness when he saw it and not be so goddamn stubborn!"

"Really? Hmmmm if memory serves me correctly, Nathan was oh-so-kind when he announced that you were suicidal to further his political campaign. He was just the most thoughtful person when he informed the President about the existence of Specials. Actually, if you put it into perspective, without Nathan and his small acts of kindness regarding Building 26, none of us would have the pleasure of being here right now!"

Peter launched himself at Gabriel. "Don't you dare blame this on Nathan, Sylar!"

The two men fell to the floor in a rolling heap of fists and fury. Claire and Matt jumped in, trying to break up the fight. Just as they pulled Peter and Gabriel apart, the door swung open.

"Hey freaks. What a surprise. Gaaaaay-briel's causing trouble again."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel froze at the sound of the intruder's voice. It couldn't be. Out of all the guards at Blackburn…

"Is it actually impossible for you to behave yourself and be a good little psycho?" Gabriel was ripped from Parkman's restraint by Agent Jackson. "I mean, here it is, and we haven't seen one another for what? Three months? Four?" Tears sprang to Gabriel's eyes as the agent yanked his lowered head up by the hair. Each follicle felt like it was burning from the tight grip. "And the first time we," Jackass sneered, "reunite with one another, you're causing trouble. Again."

His tormenter leaned in close enough for Gabriel to inhale his sour breath.

"Miss me?"

Gabriel bit his tongue, literally, to keep from answering in a way he'd regret later.

"Awwww. Cat got little 6655321's tongue?"

He really hated that man. Gabriel broke eye contact with the sadistic guard to gauge the others' reactions. He didn't want someone else getting hurt for his sake.

"Hey, back off!" But of course, Peter always had to be the hero. It was something Gabriel both admired and hated about the youngest Petrelli. "It wasn't even Gabriel's fault. I started it!"

That did it. Gabriel couldn't handle Peter's self-sacrificing shit right now. He was too annoyed to begin with. "Shut up Peter! You're still doing it. Stop coddling me!"

Jackson laughed. It was a throaty gurgle that set his victim's teeth on edge. "All I know is that Agent Kellick," he tipped his head to the doorway guard, "paged for assistance to deal with some unruly prisoners – excuse me, patients – and lucky for you, I was nearby. When I got here, it looked like the inmate everyone knows can't control his violent temper was hurting poor, innocent whatshisface here."

Gabriel thought Peter might pop a blood vessel. "That's not what happened, look-"Jackson continued right over Peter's protest, "So now I have no choice but to enforce the rules and drag _you_ over to solitary." Gabriel wanted nothing more than to forcibly remove the leer right off the asshole's face. "Anything to say for yourself, Gabri_elle_?"

"Fuck you."

It wasn't eloquent. It would have been cause for his mother to wash his mouth out with soap, adult or not. But right now, Gabriel found it dangerously satisfying.

The expletive brush-off wasn't what the agent was looking for. As he dragged his captive towards what might as well been the doorway into Hell, his lips brushed Gabriel's ear. "Later, if you're good we'll see." The room tilted slightly as Gabriel's breath caught in his constricting throat.

In his peripheral vision, Gabriel saw Claire's pale face harden into something like resolve. Right before he was forced to look away, he saw the blonde whisper something into the nearby ear of Mohinder Suresh.

The agent and his unwilling tagalong were almost in the hallway when a pain-filled shout drew both their attention.

"Ow! God Claire, what was that for!" If he hadn't been back on his way to solitary, Gabriel might have laughed. Mohinder was clutching his nose in agony, while Claire stood by with raised fists. Jackson looked at the pair in confusion. He addressed Mohinder, "What? Did the little girl over here just beat you up?"

In a British-Indian accent rendered slightly nasal, the geneticist grumbled, "For lack of a better word, yes. Miss Bennet just attacked me!"

The agent rolled his eyes. "So deal with it. What do you want me to do?"

Mohinder regarded Claire with careful consideration. "Well, I suppose you should take her too, if she's a danger to the rest of us."

"No!" Gabriel and Peter protested in unison; they agreed on that at least.

Jackson surveyed Claire with a greedy eye Gabriel inwardly swore he'd make the agent pay for later. "Well, if it's that important to you, I guess you're coming with us Blondie." He grabbed her with his other beefy paw.

The "attack" seemed contrived to Gabriel. The martyred nod she gave Suresh before being shoved out the door clinched it. Claire had just set herself up to be taken with him. _Christ, what's with these people? I can handle myself!_

"Wait, Claire's not-"

"Shut up 6655321. You and sweet-cheeks are gonna be spending some quality time together in lock-up before the Uppers' decide what to do with ya shit-disturbers."

_Wonderful._ Just what Gabriel wanted: Claire Bennet to witness his own personal Hell. The tight smile she gave him did nothing to alleviate the knot forming in his intestines. Well…maybe a little.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

A/N: Please take a moment to leave a review and share your thoughts. :)


	16. Love Song

WARNING: Foul Language in this chapter.

Chapter Sixteen: Love Song*

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

**I am not a doctor, an incarcerated special, or a fictional character; I've used text books, the internet, and good old fashioned imagination, so I apologize in advance if there are any inaccuracies. **

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

I don't need your tears  
I don't want your love  
I just gotta get home.  
And I feel like I'm breaking up, and I wanted to stay,  
Headlights on the hillside, don't take me this way,  
I don't want you to hold me, I want you to pray,  
This is bigger than us

** ~ "Bigger than Us" by ****_White Lies_**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Welcome back, little 66554321. Make yourself at home!" 

Gabriel braced himself from hitting the wall face first. His hands took most of the force from Jackson's hard shove into his former hellhole.

"You are a complete asshole." Claire looked ready to spit nails. Gabriel was too busy trying to squelch the rising panic brought on by the unwelcomingly familiar surroundings to consider getting into it with Agent Jackass himself.

"Yeah well, little miss; I'm the one in charge here, so you can shut your pretty little mouth." Jackson's snide remark came to Gabriel as though through a fog. He heard himself robotically respond, "Don't fucking talk to Claire like that."

Jackson laughed. "The little mouse found his voice, did he? Well, I think you two need some time to cool off." He snapped one of the manacles hanging from the wall around Claire's wrist. Gabriel's air intake quickened. He watched numbly as Jackson closed the other one around his wrist.

That did it.

The former cell dweller hardly registered his jailer's departure as his chest constricted. All his days spent in agony and torment came rushing back at once. Gabriel tried to swallow his anxiety, but he was too far gone already. He couldn't breathe. His stomach rolled twice, protesting the adrenalin rush.

Gabriel felt like he was dying.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire didn't know how Gabriel lasted as many months as he did without trying to kill that bastard agent. He made her skin crawl and filled her with murderous urges she hadn't felt since she drove her would-be rapist's car into a brick wall. And Jackson made Brody seem like a saint by comparison.

She wasn't sure if she wanted to congratulate or reproach Gabriel for fighting with Peter, and turned to him to say as much. Claire was greatly alarmed by what she saw.

Gabriel was rocking back and forth on his haunches, eyes glazed and widened. He looked like he was at risk of hyperventilating; his breaths were so shallow and rapid.

"Are you okay?" He obviously wasn't, but Claire didn't know what to say. Gabriel didn't seem to hear her anyway. A flash of fear struck Claire as she remembered the bloody Halloween massacre and Gabriel's meltdown. She wasn't worried for her own sake – she could heal – but she was concerned for her cellmate. What if he went catatonic again?

"Gabriel!"

He seemed to be muttering something under his breath, but it was too low for Claire to make out. It sounded something like, "It's okay…handle this…"

"Gabriel, look at me!" She gripped his shoulders and shook him. Claire was vaguely aware how close their faces were; she could feel his breath on her lips. "Gabriel!"

His eyes snapped to hers.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire looked frantic, like a woman possessed. Gabriel broke off his mantra to take a shaky mouthful of air.

"Claire, c-can you back off? P-please." He hoped that wasn't rude, but Gabriel thought it would be worse manners to throw up in her face.

She looked relieved rather than angry. "You had me worried there for a minute."

Claire appeared genuinely concerned, tears brimming in her eyes. Mortifyingly, Gabriel's own eyes also filled with moisture. Despite his best efforts, he began to cry in earnest.

"I'm fine." He didn't sound fine, even to his own ears. Claire was giving him an expression of utter disbelief. The more effort he put into choking back his tears, the faster they seemed to flow.

"Okay, so I'm not fine. Being here…the chains…sent me back. I guess the doc wasn't kidding when she said I had PTSD." Gabriel choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"You're only human. It's okay to be scared." Claire's words were meant to be reassuring, but they ignited Gabriel's anger.

"I used to be _more_ than 'only human'. I can hardly defend myself now! Peter's right, I do need protecting. The only ability I have fulltime is I.A. What good is that? The other ones are either gone or suppressed by the fucking formula." Gabriel closed his eyes and leaned against the wall in dejection. His body was too keyed up to relax. He attempted to calm himself down using the techniques the psychiatrist taught him. _Inhale…one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand. Hold. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand. Exhale. Inhale…one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand…_ He could never breathe out for six seconds for some reason. Dr. Pinel would have told him to be patient.

Gabriel repeated the exercise for several cycles before Claire spoke.

"Peter may be right about a lot of things, but he's wrong about staying here. You have the right idea: we need to make a break for it."

Gabriel opened his eyes. Claire wore an expression of determination that was slightly intimidating.

"How? I'm a mess." He desperately tried to stamp down emotions he didn't want Claire to see.

Claire's eyes narrowed. "No, you're a man. A man that's dealt with a lot of shit in a relatively short amount of time. Stop trying to be a goddamn hero. If you want to fall apart – temporarily – it's okay."

"Me – a hero?" Gabriel barked out a sardonic laugh. "Nice word choice, Claire."

She offered him a wry smile. "Well, there's something Peter is right about. He'll tell everyone who'll listen, and everyone who _won't_, that you are. A hero that is."

"Do you believe him?"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Now that was a loaded question. Claire took her time to respond, evaluating her own changing perceptions. At length she answered, "I think you've done heroic things I can't imagine myself being capable of: you tried to save me, before we were caught and brought here; you protected Molly when someone should have been protecting you; you survived torture and torment that I can only imagine in my nightmares."

"So no." Claire couldn't believe that was how Gabriel interpreted her answer. Her gut filled with annoyance. "I guess so, if that's how you want to take it," She snarked right back.

They sat in bitter silence for…awhile. Claire knew Gabriel could tell her the exact amount of time. She wasn't going to ask. She pointedly looked anywhere but at his face. Her eyes lighted upon a dangling metal collar hanging from a chain between them.

A wave of embarrassment washed over Claire. This was really not the time to be immature.

"Sorry." They spoke at the same time.

The silence returned.

Claire cleared her throat. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Anything else," Gabriel agreed.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"So, what changed between you and Peter that he decided to give you a chance?"

Gabriel thought back to his and Peter's mental incarceration.

_1194 days had passed since the world's population disappeared, leaving Sylar as the last survivor. It was thirty-seven days since Peter appeared in New York, calling his name and wielding a pipe. It was seven days since Sylar's failed attempt at consolation via comic books. Could you blame a guy for trying to be conciliatory? Okay, so yeah, maybe you could when that "guy" was a sociopathic murderer that killed the only other living person in the deserted city's brother. _

_And it's not like Peter was going to let him forget it anytime soon. _

_Sylar peeked out the second story window of the abandoned delicatessen adjacent to "the wall." It was his habit to watch – no it wasn't stalking – Peter discretely from behind the flowered curtains as the good guy pounded the unyielding fence of brick. Poor guy actually thought that he could put a dent in it. Did he ever manage to, for all his split calluses and fury? Nope. _

_He might never forgive him, actually. Judging from the way Peter swung that sledgehammer for the past week, his rage and hatred could keep him going for eternity. Sylar couldn't see any emotional man-I-love-you-let's-let-bygones-be-bygones parties on the horizon. It was like that time he accidently let the cat out of the bag that Peter skipped school to…Wait. No. That was Nathan. Stop it. _

"_Sylar you creepy fuck! Stop watching me and get your ass down here and help me break this wall!"_

_So Peter did know he was up there. Huh. _

Gabriel glanced sidelong at Claire with a small smirk. "Well, it's not like we instantly decided to become besties or whatever. When you're trapped for what looks like eternity with another person, it gives you a 'unique' perspective. All we had was each other for five long years. For all we knew, we might have had five _hundred_ years ahead of us. At some point you just have to start talking to the other person to make sure you're still real. Esse est percipi: to be is to be seen."

Claire was looking at him like he was crazy.

Gabriel tried to explain in a less existential way, "You know, the whole 'if a tree falls in the forest with no one there to hear it, does it make a sound' cliché?"

Claire nodded.

"Well, it was like that, except replace 'tree' with 'Peter' and 'forest' with 'empty nightmare city from Hell' and you've got the beginning of our friendship. Eventually, he had to talk to me to keep himself sane. Plus, Peter's not exactly the vindictive type."

"Makes sense." Claire looked like she was struggling to imagine a world with only him and Peter in it.

Gabriel sighed. "I wish we hadn't fought. Peter's under a lot of stress and I know he means well."

Claire smiled softly, "He always does." Gabriel smiled in spite of himself.

He was surprised when she said, "Your turn. Ask me anything."

_Hmmmm…_ Gabriel bit his lip in thought. Well, he had always been curious…

"What was it like, discovering you had such a magnificent ability?"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

_Claire stared at her hand numbly. The gash from her and Jackie's fight over the cheerleading uniform had completely healed. She had shown her father the pink, healthy skin only an hour ago. Determined to prove she wasn't losing her mind, Claire had locked the door, dug the unused pocket knife her daddy had given her on her fourteenth birthday out of the closet, and poked her finger. When the pinprick seemed to magically disappear, she ran the blade lightly across her finger, like a paper cut. The shallow scrape also vanished. Tears of frustration and pain in her eyes, Claire grasped the handle of the knife tightly and rammed it into her palm with all her might. It was the worst pain she ever experienced, but it also felt surprisingly _good_ to gouge deeper and deeper into the flesh. Grimly satisfied, Claire let the knife fall to the floor. Rivulets of her blood, more than she had ever seen before her glass cabinet accident, dripped on the hardwood._

_All of a sudden, her blood seemed to suck back into the wound by some unseen force. The skin rapidly smoothed over until it looked like she had never had her psycho moment._

Oh God. I'm a freak. A total, complete, not from this planet freak.

"_Claire, dinner! I won't call you again!" Her mother, who had no idea she adopted something inhuman, was calling her for supper. _

_Claire choked back a laugh and wiped her tears. She'd have to sneak some bleach out of the kitchen cupboard later to get rid of the evidence. She'd seen that on TV. God, was she thinking like some super-freak criminal already?_

_Her eyes fell on her video camera. She could film herself and prove she wasn't going crazy. Zach could be the cameraman. She'd swear him to secrecy. Who would believe a cheerleader had superpowers anyway? _

"I wasn't exactly thrilled. In fact, I thought it was like a curse or something. I can't say that I still don't wonder sometimes that it is."

Claire raised her eyes to catch the confused look on Gabriel's face. Misunderstanding his puzzlement she said, "I never asked for this, you know."

"I know." He leaned his head against the wall. "None of us did. I just thought you might have had some fun with yours first. It is a beautiful ability."

Claire sighed. "Yeah, so I've heard. What was discovering yours like? Must have been pretty special."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel winced. Claire's word choice was nothing short of unfortunate.

"Not so much. In fact, Mohinder's father, Chandra Suresh decided I didn't have an ability at all." He still felt a trace of bitterness over the elder Suresh's rejection.

"What?" Claire's scrutiny made Gabriel feel even more like a monster for what he had done. "But I thought you were his 'patient zero' or whatever."

Gabriel seized her arm, "How do you know that Claire? What do you know about me?"

She looked afraid. He was too furious to care.

"Not much. The files…my Dad had them at home, before you took them with you after taking my power. I didn't have the chance to read them in detail. I just glanced at the top page of yours. Actually, had you not broken in when you did, I probably would have read yours and the others that afternoon." Claire's fear transformed into spite. She shook her arm out of his grip. "I guess that worked out for you; you raped my brain and got to keep your secrets."

Gabriel felt his ire fade as quickly as it came. He ducked his head abashedly and whispered, "You don't know what it's like – what it is to kill someone. It changes you."

_He did it. Gabriel Gray, no, Gabriel Sylar, took the life of another human being. More than that, he took his power._

_After the euphoric rush of understanding and change – yes, he felt his DNA actually morph into something better, more powerful – Gabriel saw red. He couldn't call himself Gabriel anymore. Gabriel Gray would never have murdered someone in his father's timepiece restoration shop. _

_Sylar would. _

_He used the name branded on his precious timepiece as a convenient alias. He hadn't planned to kill Brian Davis…but on a subconscious level, he knew that he couldn't be Gabriel Gray while they spoke. And then, he actually did it. Killed him in cold blood._

…_but the blood was warm. A rising hysteria was tugging at the corners of Gabriel – no, Sylar's – consciousness. _

_There was so much blood. It soaked the knees of his trousers as he knelt in the congealing crimson. Who knew there was so much blood in the brain? Sylar fell back on his haunches. What had he done? He flicked a finger and Davis's skullcap flew into his hand. He mutilated another man and stolen a piece of his soul, sacrificing his own in the process. _

_Was it worth it?_

_He felt sickened that a part of him whispered yes, yes it was, if only for the absolute bliss of understanding he got when he understood just how that weakling's brain worked. Now he was special too. Well, he must have already been special to know how to integrate another person's ability into his own DNA. Sylar bet not everyone could do that. He was probably the only one, in fact._

_Could he do it again?_

_God, what was happening to him? He just deceived someone and then took his life! He was already thinking of future victims. Sure he could do it again. Should he? Would he?_

"_What have I done to myself?" _

_Sylar – no, he was Gabriel. He could still be Gabriel – shakily rose to his feet. He looked at the ruined corpse on the floor in revulsion…and with a small bit of pride. Tamping down the urge to scream, Gabriel wiped his stained hands on a nearby oil cloth and strode to the front of the store. He locked the door. The sign was already flipped to the "closed" side. He wouldn't be receiving any customers today. Maybe never again. _

_In a trance, Gabriel somehow managed to dispose of the body, clean the stains from his floor, and retreat to his apartment. He was in the seldom used crawlspace set into the wall by the bookcase when his rationality returned. He had entered the room in shock, compulsively scrawling "Forgive Me" again and again and again on the walls. Gabriel's cognition came back as he lay on the floor, staring at his macabre pleas for absolution. He breathed and blinked. So much red…on the floor of the shop, on his hands, now on the walls, in the words begging absolution…_

_Would it be enough? _

_I t would have to be, for now. Gabriel had to show Chandra his new trick. _

Claire didn't look as disgusted as he expected she would. Instead, she looked contemplative. Finally, she said, "I sort of know what you mean. I watched Flanagan die. I could have done something…it was probably too late anyways, but I didn't even try. I watched the life leave his eyes."

"Was it satisfying?" He had to know.

Claire nodded. "And sickening," she whispered. A tear rolled down her cheek.

Gabriel nudged Claire's shoulder with his elbow to make sure she was still with him.

"It always is."

"What were you thinking when you were looking at _my_ brain?"

Gabriel wasn't sure Claire really wanted to know.

_Claire has some seriously hot lobes. _

_The average person might think that brains are brains, but a connoisseur like Sylar knew the difference. Claire's cerebellum had a certain symmetry to it; her perfect amygdala pulsed under his thumb; the corpus callosum arched gracefully between two plump hemispheres…he felt his pulse quicken, causing blood to pour faster from his chest wound. Sylar could hardly contain his excitement as he plunged deeper into Claire's gray matter. His intoxication heightened as he noticed that her brain retained its healthy hue despite the prolonged exposure. Sylar couldn't wait until Claire Bennet's glorious ability was his. _

"You were turned on. By. My. _Brain_?"

"Well Claire, you _are_ special…"

_As much as Sylar was enjoying the exploration of Claire's most intimate organ, he had to make haste. His breath rattled in his throat and he began to see stars. Claire had really plunged the knife in deeply. She meant business. But so did he. _

"_Are you going to eat it?"_

_Was she serious? He was an artist, not a cannibal. Not that the two had to be mutually exclusive. _

"_Eat your brain?" Sylar leaned over Claire's paralyzed body. God, he loved her from this angle. "Claire, that's disgusting."He returned to his work, more than a little amused._

_There it was. Sylar placed his hand on the spot and allowed the secret of invincibility flow through his fingertips. He allowed himself a moment to revel in the absorption of the most powerful ability he ever garnered. At once, Sylar felt his own DNA shift and morph to accommodate Claire's gift. In that second, he felt the familiar connection to his victim that meant he had succeeded in taking their ability. Now they were the same in that small, yet monumental way. The best part about taking from Claire was that the link didn't have to die with her like his other victims; she would live forever. So would he. _

_As Sylar pulled the kitchen cleaver from his sternum, he could have sworn he felt his heart expand with affection for the little cheerleader. He placed the top of her skull back into place so that her head could knit back together. _

"_Aren't you going to kill me?"_

_He paused. Killing Claire was the last thing he wanted to do. They were alike. She was special, and so was he. They were the same, which wasn't something he could say about anyone else still living._

"_You're different. You're special. And I couldn't kill you even if I wanted to. You can never die. And now I guess, neither can I."_

_Sylar could already tell that this was the beginning of what would be a wonderful, eternal relationship. _

Gabriel sneaked a peak at Claire to see how she was taking this new information. It wasn't everyday a guy tells you that he fell in love with you over your lobes.

Claire looked like she was about to cry. Well, he really couldn't expect her to be happy, now could he? He long ago vowed to always be honest, but maybe he should have made an exception in this case.

Just as he was about to question her mental state, Claire burst into a fit of giggles. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she kept on laughing. Gabriel wasn't sure what to make of the contradictory emotions. He watched, baffled.

"You are the," Claire gasped for air, "freakiest guy on earth...a real Grade A weirdo." Claire wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve, but kept shaking with…whatever emotion that was. "I should hate you for doing that to me, and believe me, I'm still not happy about it," She raised her reddened eyes to meet his own confused ones. Gabriel watched her corneas whiten; he would never tire of watching Claire's regeneration in action.

"But would you believe me if I said I understand what you're saying?"

Gabriel's heart nearly stopped. That wasn't what he expected Claire to say at all. He swallowed his anxiety and asked, "What do you mean?"

Her gaze enraptured him. "I feel it too. The connection. You stole a part of me that day and made it your own. For better or worse we're tied together forever because of it. And to be honest, I don't want to be alone for eternity."

"Me neither."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Gabriel's quiet admission oddly filled Claire with a warm sense of relief. She had been worried about immortal loneliness for a long time now; that fear was amplified by her forced separation from the boogeyman at the facility. He was supposed to be the constant, and they changed that.

"But what about your abilities? Flanagan really…" What was the best way to phrase it? "…Messed you up. You don't have my power anymore, not even suppressed, right?"

Gabriel straightened his back against the concrete. His whole body seemed to stiffen in resolve.

"No, it's gone. But we'll get out. And then I'll find a way to fix myself. Remember, I still have," He paused meaningfully, "tricks up my sleeve."

Claire was transfixed by his ferocity. She still caught his meaning – he still had the empathy tied to his intuitive aptitude. Gabriel continued, "This isn't forever. I swear to you Claire, I won't leave you to face the world for eons alone. You don't have to love me, but at least trust me."

She did. Trust him, that is.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Why me? I mean, was that the only reason you hunted me the way you did, for my ability?"

He was on the edge of something here…something dangerous and uncertain. Did he dare disturb the universe? Gabriel breathed.

"I…I don't know exactly. At first you were a power to collect. Then you were the means to revenge against Noah. I was thwarted again and again; you became the Holy Grail, the fountain of youth, Pandora's Box…" He trailed off deep in thought. At length he continued, "After the Shanti Virus, you were an addiction. I tasted your ability in Mohinder's serum and wanted more. You stabbed me and your power became a necessity. And then I saw everything. You were the answer to my solitude…two immortals with only each other forever. In the Stanton – an infatuation. At your college – a chance for a connection."

"And now?" Gabriel couldn't read either malice or welcome into Claire's soft query.

"Now…I'd like it if we could try to be friends."

He stared straight ahead at the metal table in the middle of the cell. He didn't want to see revulsion mar Claire's face. A weight on his thigh startled Gabriel out of his reverie.

"I am your friend." Gabriel could hardly believe it as Claire gently rubbed the area above his knee. Her eyes were filled with optimism so clear it penetrated every fiber of his being. "In fact," her unwavering stare held him in raptures, "I wonder if maybe we're meant to be more?"

Gabriel's heart stuttered.

"Because you weren't wrong: fate keeps throwing us together. I'm still scared as hell, but I'm drawn to you. A part of me still hates you, but a larger part tells me to give you a chance."

"I lo-" His outburst was halted by Claire's finger on his lips. "Don't say it until you really know."

Gabriel assured her, "I never lie." And he never would, especially not to Claire.

"I know. But not yet."

They sat in the silence of mutual contemplation.

Gabriel's brain hurt like all the cerebral fluid had drained from his skull, leaving a dehydrated lump of ow. His nose was so clogged with emotionally-induced mucus it was almost pitiful. His eyelids felt swollen and heavy. He was utterly exhausted.

It didn't matter; the release was worth it.

Gabriel had broken. He wasn't whole yet; he might never be. But the pieces were starting to fit together.

That was more than a good enough start.

A quarter of an hour passed and Claire rested her tousled head on his shoulder. Gabriel would have been content if their eternity began right then.

He closed his eyes to catch some rest.

Claire shifted her head on his shoulder. She murmured, "We should do this more often."

"What? Get locked up together?"

" No, talk." Much to his surprise, Claire kissed a quick peck of affection on his cheek.

"Agreed."

Gabriel and Claire dozed together on the cold cell floor.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

*A/N: Gabriel's line, "Did he dare disturb the universe?" is a slight variation on a line from my favorite poem, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot. The poem is too long in its entirety to post with a chapter, but it has served as inspiration for this fanfiction, and especially this chapter.

Also, the line, "I lo-" His outburst was halted by Claire's finger on his lips." was inspired by the fantastic RalynnFrost's fanfic "Vicious Circles." Its continuation, "Return to Level 5" is already shaping up to be an awesome third installment in a series of Sylaire stories she's written. You should go check them out, ASAP. :)


	17. Prison

A/N: Um, sorry for the epic wait. Life happened…but now updates will (hopefully) become more regular again. Thank you to all my reviewers for sharing your thoughts. :) In particular, thank you to the anon's that commented on the last chapter: **Sylaire4evas, mel, more-than-meets-the-eye, **and** flyfree**. I appreciate all of your kind words too.

**More-than-meets-the-eye** asked, _"Ok, here goes... what is happening to HRG? I know this story is a whole Syclaire thing but I've just been wondering, what is he doing while his daughter is in a prison for a year. Maybe you could write a chapter about what everyone else has been doing this year. Angela, Emma, and again, HRG."_ Which is something maybe other people have been wondering too. I'll just say that I haven't forgotten the rest of the gang, and there will be some interesting twists on the horizon. Sorry for the vague response; I just don't want to give anything away. Thank you for your question.

Chapter Seventeen: Prison

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, sadly. References will also be made to "A Clockwork Orange," by Anthony Burgess; "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," by Ken Kesey; Story title was inspired by the song "How to Save a Life" by The Fray. I also do not own these sources. PLEASE DO NOT SUE. I merely pay homage to these great works.**

**I am not a doctor, an incarcerated special, or a fictional character; I've used text books, the internet, and good old fashioned imagination, so I apologize in advance if there are any inaccuracies. **

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

One of the many lessons that one learns in prison is, that things are what they are and will be what they will be. **Oscar Wilde**

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire opened her eyes reluctantly. There were footsteps in the hallway outside the cell, but she didn't remove her head from Gabriel's shoulder right away. Instead, she slowly tilted her chin to get a better look at her sleeping cellmate.

Whatever happens in prison stays in prison, right? There was an expression or something.

From this angle, Claire had a close-up view of the dark stubble accenting Gabriel's jaw line. She wanted to reach out and trace the small hairs with her index finger, but resisted the urge. As a compromise, she stretched her neck a little more to study his dark eyelashes. It was a fair trade.

The sound of a key making its full revolution in the lock broke her trance. Claire rested her head against the plaster and drywall covered bricks instead. She gently nudged her cellmate in preparation for their company. His eyes flit to her face momentarily before looking away; totally unaware that he had been the object of her intense scrutiny only seconds before. Claire didn't plan to fill him in on that particular detail.

"Let me do the talking."

Claire didn't have time to respond before Dr. Pinel rushed inside to meet the manacled pair. Her heels clicked a staccato rhythm of agitation on the concrete.

"Are you two okay? Well, relatively okay considering you've been locked in here for hours?" Claire detected irritation underneath concern. "Kellick!" The doctor snapped her fingers. "Give me the key." The guard overtaken by Claire, Peter, and Molly the night of the failed escape attempt jogged into the cell, and stopped a safe distance away from Claire and Gabriel. Pinel waved her hand at him in frustration. "_Now_." He fumbled with a ring of assorted keys. "The one to the chains." Claire watched the tips of the guard's ears redden. He looked like he was maybe a little younger than Peter and Gabriel. Finally, he produced the desired key. Dr. Pinel nearly snatched it from his trembling hand. "Now go wait for us outside."

"Yes ma'am." He shot Claire a fearful expression before darting out the door, swinging it shut behind him. Gabriel quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I'll explain later," she muttered.

"There will be a lot of explaining later, like how the fight in the common room got started," Dr. Pinel interrupted. "But first I want to know how you're doing." She leveled Gabriel with a serious gaze while releasing his wrist from its tether.

He massaged skin rubbed a raw pink from the metal. "Fine."

The psych professional gave Gabriel a "don't-give-me-that-bullshit" face while unlocking Claire from her manacle. Claire wondered if he'd be honest and say that he been freaked out by being thrown back into the familiar cell. It's not like anyone could blame him for reacting the way he did.

"Don't make me ask Claire if you're lying." Claire really didn't want to get drawn into this. Gabe looked annoyed and embarrassed while the psychiatrist appeared to be utterly determined to get an honest answer. She produced a tube of ointment from the left pocket of her tweed pants and tossed it into his lap. "For your wrist." She gently took Claire's hand into her own and examined the unblemished skin. To Claire's curious expression she responded, "Just wanted to be sure."

"I panicked at first, but I'm fine now. Really. Your calming tips helped and so did having company." Claire noticed that Gabe spit out the truth so fast he nearly stumbled over it.

She nodded in agreement, "He's telling the truth, um, Dr. Pinel."

The psychiatrist held out a hand for each captive to pull themselves up by. "Thank you. We're not going to sit _here_ and talk about it." Claire glanced at Gabriel before accepting the offer. He took the doctor's hand first. The three of them hastened towards the exit.

Just shy of making it to the closed door, Dr. Pinel laid her hand on Gabriel's elbow. "I'm so sorry that Jackson was there, lurking around in an area where he shouldn't have been, and that he brought you here." Her eyes held genuine sympathy as they lit on Claire's disheveled appearance. "To both of you." Claire observed Pinel's face minutely crinkle when the doctor returned her gaze to Gabriel. "This shouldn't have happened. 'Solitary' punishment is intended to be getting sent to your room, not being forced back into a cell to relive your trauma. I'll speak to Dr. Henderson."

Gabriel's eyes didn't waver from the heavy door, but Claire noticed they had taken on a misty sheen.

"Okay," he said.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Claire filled Molly in on the bare details of their visit to the other side of the compound while they got dressed for bed. She and Gabriel missed supper and evening Rec. Dr. Pinel had, however, produced crackers and pudding cups from the cafeteria for them. Claire had stuffed them into herself before submitting to the ungodly early weekday bedtime.

Molly finally spoke, "Did you at least get to go outside when Jackass took your over to the far building?" She had sat in quiet contemplation for several minutes after Claire finished her summary.

Claire sighed. "No. We took the underground tunnel route. At least he left Gabriel alone after chaining us up."

Molly cracked her knuckles in agitation. She grumbled, "He's lucky it wasn't me over there. I can't wait to get my hands on that-that-"

"I know," Claire sighed. To distract Molly from her homicidal intentions, she whispered, "Did I tell you that I kissed Gabe?"

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" Claire nearly leapt out of her skin at Molly's high-pitched shriek. She clamped a hand over the young teen's mouth.

"Yes. Shhhhhhh. Just a little peck on the cheek. Like friends or whatever."

Claire could still hear Molly giggling around her hand. There was no point trying to get her adopted sister to quiet down now. Molly flopped down on the bed and covered her face with the pillow. It was several minutes before Claire heard the laughter die down. Eventually, still in between snickers, Molly whispered, "Friends don't go around kissing each other if both of them obviously have the hots for each other. Especially if friend two is a sexy older man that friend one obviously has chemistry with."

"Molly, that doesn't even make sense. And I don't know when you started referring to Gabe as a 'sexy-older-man' but-"

"Claire and Gabriel sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-Geeeeee!"

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"Geez Peter. Are you going to ignore me all night?" Gabriel tossed a rolled up pair of socks in the air and caught it. After lights-out, the entertainment at Blackburn got really _wild._

"Me?" Peter rolled over so that he was no longer facing the wall. His glare was quite visible to his roommate on the opposite side of the room. "You're the one who hasn't said a word to me since you got back until just now."

Gabriel tossed his sock-ball up again and watched its flight. "Well, maybe I wasn't sure how long you had to sulk until you were ready to talk."

Peter propped himself up on his elbows. "Fine. So talk."

The sock-ball landed in Gabriel's open hands, but he didn't toss it into the air again. Now that he had Peter's attention, he wasn't sure what to say. He kneaded the socks for three minutes, fifty-six seconds until Peter's mattress creaked. Tearing his unfocused gaze from the direction of the ceiling, Gabe tried to identify the emotions playing across Peter's shadowed face. He looked perturbed. And maybe disappointed. And maybe sad? But mostly annoyed?

"Peter, I'm not the empathetic one here. In fact, I kind of hate people in general, or they hate me." _Wow, that sounded a lot more pathetic than I intended. _"What I mean is, I need you to tell me what you're thinking so we can fix this."

Peter swung himself into a seated position. "'This' meaning…?" He waved his hands in an open gesture.

"This…relationship problem we're having. Christ, Peter I'm not good at this emotional stuff. Are you going to make me spell it out?" Gabriel had half a mind to call it quits for the night, roll over, and face the wall.

"'Relationship problem' makes us sound like a couple of girls." Now he just wanted to stuff the socks down Peter's throat. "But," Peter continued, "I'm really proud of you for wanting to talk this out."

"Aw thanks. Do I get a cookie?"

"Shut up. I'm sorry for saying that stuff about your nightmares in front of everyone. Hell, I'm sorry I said it at all. I don't mind looking out for you, at all, ever, and I don't want you to think otherwise. Everything else too, like the catatonic stuff, it was no problem."

Gabriel felt his mounting irritation fizzle out. Peter's relentless sense of _goodness_ tended to have that effect on the people around him.

"I'm the one who should be sorry. I never should have used Nathan's, uh, mistakes against you like that. I know you still love him, and it was mean of me to bring his memory into our fight."

"Thanks. I'll always love Nathan – he's my big brother. But you're right; he did make some really bad choices."

Gabriel reached over and put his socks back in their proper drawer. He folded his hands on his stomach and returned to staring at the ceiling. "It's okay to be upset, Peter. You don't always have to be a hero. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

"But?"

"-_And _I just want you to know that it's normal to get frustrated sometimes."

"Are you seriously explaining emotions to me right now?" Peter's incredulity was not unkind.

The typically socially awkward man blinked. "I guess I am. I just don't want you putting a lot of pressure on yourself; until, I don't know…you explode, or something."

Peter's subsequent guffaws sounded unnaturally loud in the small room.

"Peter, I'm trying to have a serious discussion with you!"

Gabriel's admonition didn't seem to have any effect on the other man. Peter continued to laugh at some joke only he was privy to.

"It's just, hahahaha, the way you worded that." Gabriel noticed that Peter seemed to be having an awfully hard time controlling himself. "You don't want me to _explode_?"

_Oh._

"Only you would think of Kirby Plaza while I'm trying to be nice." But now Gabe was having a hard time not laughing at his unfortunate pun. "Especially since that didn't end well for either of us." He let out a small, _manly_, giggle.

The two men grinned in the dark about a night that was so terribly unfunny that remembering it in light of their present bond leant it a weird sort of levity.

"And look at us now." Peter sounded a little choked up to Gabriel's ears.

Before Peter could go any further down the mushy, lovey-dovey route the ex-serial killer typically tried to avoid at all costs, he interrupted, "Now we're in a loony-bin prison that you don't want to break out of for some reason." Gabriel finally sat up straight. "What is that reason Peter?"

Peter looked very uncomfortable. Eventually he responded, "I guess…I'm worried for you. For Claire and Molly. For everyone, actually. How do we know when the time is right? I guess I'm waiting for some kind of a sign."

"What if there isn't a sign?" Gabriel raked his left hand through his hair. "What if we just keep waiting and waiting and…I don't know how much longer I can wait Peter."

The blank space in the whispered confession chilled them both.

Peter cleared his throat. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Everyone needs to be in on this to work. There's safety in numbers."

"Fair enough. It's not going to be easy to get a lot of them to trust us." Gabriel paused for thought. "To trust me, I mean."

"I trust you. With my life."

Gabriel inwardly glowed. Out loud he said, "Are we good then?"

Peter swung his legs back under the sheets. "Yeah man, we're good."

"Goodnight."

"G'night."

Gabriel was nearly asleep when he heard a noise come from Peter's side of the room. It sounded like more laughter.

"Pete?"

"Gabe?"

"Was there something else?"

"Nope."

"Okay."

"Well actually," Gabriel smothered his sigh in his pillow while Peter continued talking, "I was wondering if we should…hug? I mean, if you wanted…"

"NO."

_Well, maybe in the morning. _But he wasn't going to tell Peter so right now. Did he look like the kind of guy who likes hugging? Gabriel hoped not. _Well, maybe he does like it a little…_

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

The next afternoon rolled around, bringing with it the return of "Group Therapy." Except now that there was an actual psychiatrist leading the circle, Claire anticipated that the proceedings were going to be handled a lot differently…

Claire didn't like the expression on Dr. Pinel's face. It looked like she meant business; no more arts and crafts with this lady.

"It appears that we are having some problems, as a _group_. So we are going to work _together_ to solve those problems."

Claire spared quick glance around the circle. She wondered if she looked as surly as Sylar or as perplexed as Peter. Dr. Pinel twirled a piece of chalk between her trimmed nails. The psychiatric professional appeared to be sizing up her charges. She spoke again, louder, "What happened yesterday is never going to happen again. Who wants to elaborate?"

"Arts and Crafts?" Molly suggested, balancing her chair on its two back legs. She righted it to its proper four-legged position with a definite _thunk _under Dr. Pinel's measured gaze. The kid even had the sense to look a little sheepish.

"No. I'm talking about grown men and women arguing in a completely childish fashion, which lead to physical altercations between four different inmates." She paused to look Peter, Gabriel, Claire, and Mohinder all in the eye in turn. "There are constructive methods to disagree, and punching someone in the face isn't one of them."

Gabriel snickered.

Dr. Pinel gripped her chalk firmly. "I would think you would be the least amused of the group, Gabriel, considering that most of the collective hostility is directed at _you_." That wiped the smirk off his face. "But the problem is not Gabriel's alone. We all need to work together."

Claire didn't like where this was going. Any minute the woman might start spouting about sisterhood or synergy. Ew.

"Our goal is," The psychiatrist stood from her chair to click-clack her path to the chalkboard; she wrote in all capital, block letters, "TEAMWORK."

A collective groan filled the room. Claire suspected that much to Dr. Pinel's displeasure, it would be the only thing the specials would consent to do together.

"And," she continued her introduction over the voiced displeasure, "We are going learn to respect one another." Dr. Pinel must have been blind to the glares Matt and Mohinder were shooting at Gabriel, and the "bring-it-on" expression he was making right back. Claire was still skeptical about the whole kumbya campfire therapy idea, but it looked like it might provide some entertainment.

"As an incentive, in case learning not to want to kill each other isn't enough," the corner of Dr. P's lips quirked up for a moment before settling again, "there will be rewards that can be enjoyed by the whole group."

Matt Parkman raised his hand tentatively, "Why would we really want to go along with this plan of yours?" He scowled. "We're in prison anyway."

Dr. Pinel nodded, "Good question. The short answer is that I can't trust you," she gestured to the circle, "Until you all trust each other. How can I petition to let you guys spend time outside – still within the compound – if I'm not sure you that you won't do something dangerous once you're in a more open area?"

Claire sat up a little straighter. "Outside? Like in the fresh air?"

"Yes, among other privileges." The psychiatrist's answer to Claire's question was accompanied by a small smile. Addressing the whole group, she continued, "We don't have to be enemies. We just have to make the situation manageable. Okay?"

A chorus of _okay's_, _alright's_, and _sure fine's_ were her answer.

"Let's get started then."

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

Fifteen minutes into day two of Group, Gabriel already wanted to injure someone.

"He's 'changed' before, and then gone back to his murderous ways as soon as he could."

Mohinder was leading the anti-Sylar campaign for what seemed like the millionth time.

"I kind of _do_ want to kill him," Gabriel whispered to Peter, who was seated on his right.

Peter snickered. "Shhh, that makes you sound like a homicidal maniac."

"I _am_ a homicidal maniac, remember?"

They looked at each other and at the same time whispered, "_Recovering_ homicidal maniac!"

Both men had to struggle to keep a straight face. Unfortunately, Dr, Pinel was looking right at them.

"Is there something either of you wanted to share? Mr. Petrelli? Mr. Gray?"

"No ma'am." "No Doctor."

And that was pretty much how every session thereafter went, two afternoons each week for the month of March. Nine painful sessions in all. Gabriel and Peter would arrive at each session with good intentions to forge some peaceful grounds with certain hostile members of the group, the idea of escape on their minds. But then Matt would bring up the time Sylar joyfully made him look insane and incompetent at work. Or Gabriel would make a snide remark about Mohinder's willingness to change allegiances when the mood struck him.

"What issues do we want to tackle first today?"

"That we're expected to trust a serial killer."

It didn't matter who started it, each hour long session ended the same way. New truces had yet to appear from the vitriol that was Group Therapy. Gabriel remained firmly on one side of the line in the sand, Matt and Mohinder on the other. Peter's unwavering faith in redemption and second chances landed him firmly with Gabriel. It was no secret that the youngest Petrelli went down several notches in the esteem of Team M&M (as a certain snarky killer nicknamed them) for his choice.

"How about today?"

"That we can't agree on even the most simple things." Hiro looked utterly exasperated by day five, week three.

Gabriel was sympathetic to the time traveler. Poor Hiro, captain of Team Neutrality, or Team Let's Not Get Caught in the Crossfire (also on the team: Ando, Claire, and Molly) looked like he just wanted everyone to get along. Probably something do to his sense of justice and righteousness. Gabriel wondered if maybe Hiro read too many comic books as a child. Or maybe he himself hadn't studied the color saturated panels of heroic exploits enough, and that was why he had gone down the "wrong" path? That seemed too simple an answer to all his failings in life, but these were the kind of philosophical ponderings that he mused on during Group.

"If Mohinder brings up the fact that I killed his father one more time, may I please be excused?"

"No, Mr. Gray."

"Do I get points for asking nicely?"

"No, Mr. Gray."

At some point their last names would start being used by the outwardly calm Dr. Pinel. On day seven, Gabriel idly wondered if she had an ability too – the power of infallible patience. He knew it wasn't a super power, or he'd feel it there, but still…

"My dads are overprotective. They don't get it that I'm not their little girl anymore."

"Thank you Molly that was a very constructive statement. Would someone else who doesn't usually speak like to share their thoughts?"

Gabriel spent a lot of the slowly accumulating minutes watching the reactions of everyone else in the room; Claire's were no exception. He loved to watch her nose crinkle and forehead wrinkle. In a purely non-creepy way, of course. She had yet to really offer anything to the circle. Gabriel wondered what she was thinking. There were endless possibilities firing around in that brain of hers.

"Claire?"

"I don't know. Pass."

When the month was very nearly over, Gabriel was secretly relieved. He wasn't looking forward to the upcoming thirty days of solo experimentation, but at least it would be a different kind of torture.

_Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo~Oo_

"It's seriously not that hard, Peter."

Claire glanced sidelong at Molly, quirking an eyebrow. It was the second to last day before Gabriel left them for the other side of the compound. It was also laundry day, and the two girls had already finished stripping and redressing their beds. They were just outside the boys' room when they heard Gabe's chiding.

The girls peaked in the doorway, trying to stay hidden.

Gabriel and Peter seemed to be in differing stages of finishing the monthly chore. Gabe, to his credit, was neatly folding down the top five inches of the top blanket. With a final flourish, he smoothed the bedding that had been arranged with near-military precision. Peter appeared to be having…different…results.

Claire had to restrain herself from losing it completely. Her uncle was in a valiant fight with the fitted sheet. Peter was lying with his chest flat to the mattress, bracing his feet on the metal bedposts. He was trying in vain to stretch his elasticized enemy across the rectangular surface. Just as it looked like he was going to catch the furthest corners of the mattress, the gray sheet rumpled its way from behind him like a sadly deflating balloon.

"Nooooo! Not again!"

Peter flopped onto his bed in defeat.

Gabriel strode over to his roommate's side. His facial expression revealed a mix of bafflement and amusement. "It's not rocket science. Let me show you how…again." Gabe let out an exaggerated sigh, "First, remove yourself from the bed. Second –" Before he could continue revealing the secret to bed-making, Claire and Molly sauntered into the room sporting identical grins.

"I'm with Gabe. How is it that a grown man, a man who's saved the world multiple times, has no clue how to do something as basic as stretch a sheet?" Claire couldn't help but teasing Peter a bit.

Peter rolled his eyes dramatically and puffed his bangs out of his eyes. "Making a bed has nothing to do with being a hero. We always had hired help at the mansion. Our maid, Florence, always changed the bedding." He flung an arm over his face.

"Silverspooooon." Claire snickered at Gabriel's soft sing-song interruption. Peter good-naturedly tossed his pillow in the direction of his friend's head.

"As I was saying, then at my own apartment, linens weren't exactly my top priority. Who really cares if all the sheets in the package make it onto the bed?"

Gabriel tossed the pillow back, hitting Peter full in the face. "Uh, everyone else? Pay attention Pete, while I show you the fine art of civilized _normalcy_ for the umpteenth time."

Molly and Claire hovered by the metal bedposts of Gabriel's pristine bed while its owner slowly explained the process to Peter.

"First, shake out the sheet. No, not like it's a rug that's dusty. Not that hard! Ow! Peter, that was my eye!"

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A/N#2: Good news! The next chapter should be coming along much sooner than this one. And until then, deprived readers can satiate their appetite with two new(ish) oneshots that can be found on my profile page – "Death be not Proud" and "I'm not."

Let me know what you liked, what you're hoping for…your thoughts are very welcome. :)


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